He Remembers Forgotten Beauty
by eperil
Summary: Enjolras always said Patria was his mistress, but when he finds himself standing in front of the human form of Patria, he's not entirely sure he can stick to the metaphorical sense of the phrase anymore
1. Chapter 1

Éponine danced from person to person, twirling wildly with a manic grin on her face. The atmosphere in the large room was filled with body heat and cigarette smoke, and instruments playing jovial tunes. Her friend had already left her on her own, by now, but she didn't care as much as she did 20 minutes ago. She was having too much fun.

She couldn't remember why she'd agreed to come here at the time of asking, but she knew now that if she was asked after having this experience, the answer would always be yes.

"Éponine!" Someone was tugging on her arm, and she turned to snap at them. But it was her friend, Aimée, and she gave her a quizzical look.

"What's the matter, Aimée?" Her dark brows knitted together in worry, but Aimée only grinned at her.

"You have to come and see this!" She took Éponine's arm and dragged her from the crowd to where most of the seats were located.

Éponine searched the crowd of people laughing, dancing, drinking, singing, shouting, and just collectively being extremely loud and active, but she couldn't seem to see what all of Aimée's fuss had been about.

Aimée turned excitedly to Éponine and pointed. "Look!" She beamed, and Éponine's eyes followed to where she was pointing. "Les Amis, Éponine! They are here!"

Éponine had a feeling that Aimée knew Les Amis de l'ABC would be at the fête, and that's probably why she had slipped away and left her, but she honestly didn't mind much anymore. She stared at Monsieur Marius Pontmercy, as he sat with his friends, head thrown back in laughter. Éponine hadn't taken much notice of Les Amis before, merely dismissing them as stupid young boys with impossible ideas of the future in their heads.

But she had to admit now that, since Monsieur Marius' joining of Les Amis, her attention had been grabbed. She supported them at their rallies, and attended the ABC Café quietly, when they had meetings, just staring at Marius, never being noticed. They were friends, but Éponine wanted more. She was in love with this man.

Still, Éponine tried to get his attention, but her efforts were futile, always being ignored. He never saw their friendship that way. Anyhow, she was just a street urchin, who helped her father and his men in their schemes to con rich people of their money, nothing of importance. But Monsieur Marius was rich, and everyone knew it, because his grandfather would always forbid him to attend the meetings and rallies of The Friends, yet he would disobey every time and come along to them anyway.

"Monsieur Marius!" She called, and he turned his head to look at her. He smiled, a smile that made her heart jump what felt like three feet, and got to his feet, coming towards her.

"'Ponine! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same, sir." She smiled, and he laughed.

"It's probably one of the last outings Les Amis can have. We plan for the revolution to start soon."

Éponine gasped. _Of course! If only she listened more in the meetings._

"Anyway, I've got to get back. We're discussing something important."

"Didn't look that important to me, Monsieur." Éponine teased, referring to their laughing and giggling before she had called his name. Marius blushed, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yes, well-" He struggled to find an answer, and held his breath. "I've got to get back." He repeated, and turned around, taking his place once again with Les Amis.

"Come on, Aimée." Éponine said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "They're busy. We'll see if they have any time for us later." She walked towards the bar of the setting, looking for a cup of wine to get with the last 5 centimes she had stolen from her father while he slept deeply, induced by copious amounts of wine.

Little Gavroche pestered Éponine for a sip of her wine as he sat on the bar alongside her. She sang to the ditties that the band played and people gathered, eager to hear her beautiful voice as she and Gavroche took it upon themselves to be the party's entertainment for the next twenty minutes.

When they were finished and their voices were too hoarse to sing anymore, Gavroche jumped down and scuttled through the crowd, getting lost in the large amounts of people dancing through the night. Éponine was more comfortable in her environment now, and as she sat nursing a cup of wine someone had bought her for her singing, she didn't notice Marius approach her.

"Éponine?" He called, and she turned her head towards him, blushing. She put her cup down and smiled, as he leaned against the bar.

"Yes, Monsieur?" Éponine replied, trying to keep a calm demeanor.

"Amazing singing, as per usual." Marius flashed her a smile, and Éponine thought she might die right there on the bar.

"Thank you, sir." She giggled, and he carried on smiling at her.

"'Ponine, would you do me a favour?" She nodded her head, and listened closely in anticipation.

"Would you find out who she is for me?" Éponine's smile dropped, as she turned her head to see who Marius' gaze was fixed on. All of a sudden, she lost her breath, like she'd just been punched in the gut. Her face drained of colour as she recognised the blonde who sat among friends, laughing and smiling in all of her finery.

She hadn't seen Cosette since she was once in the position that the petite girl was in now. _That_, Éponine thought, _was definitely a long time ago._

"'Ponine?" Marius' voice grounded her again, and she whipped her head around to look at him.

"_Sorry, sir, but due to differences that are more than likely irreconcilable, I cannot speak to this girl."_

It wasn't until Marius had called her name again, using her full name this time, that Éponine realised she had said none of this, and instead stared at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times.

"Marius!" A voice called, and she let out a breath as they both looked in the direction of the voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Enjolras," Marius greeted the leader, and Éponine recognised him. His voice, his name, his blonde, curly locks, and his red jacket. He was the leader of Les Amis, _The Marble Man_, she had heard him being called quite often.

"I was just asking Éponine if she could introduce me to the girl over there." Monsieur Marius pointed behind Éponine, and the three turned to see Cosette, laughing elsewhere with a different group of people.

"Come on, Monsieur Marius. Really?" Enjolras jibed, shaking his head with disappointment at Marius, who drew his eyebrows together in confusion. "She's just some Bourgeois two-a-penny thing." He winked at Éponine, who lowered her head to hide a smirk. What a charming man.

Éponine stared at Enjolras, looking at the way he smirked and teased Marius. She stared at his curly hair, unkempt but still radiant, and the way his skin glowed in the candlelight by the bar. Why had she never noticed how handsome he was before? He was tall, and his posture seemed enhanced in the red jacket he usually wore.

Marius sighed, and pushed himself off of the bar. "I'd better go and talk to her myself then."

"I should think so, Monsieur Pontmercy. Sending a girl on your romance errands wouldn't exactly go well, would it?" Enjolras called as Marius walked away.

Marius spun and gave Enjolras the two fingers and then turned again, making his way to Cosette. Éponine watched him, and looked back at Enjolras, who was staring at her face.

"Éponine, isn't it?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"I must say, that was lovely singing. My friends and I were enthralled by it, honestly."

Éponine's cheeks burned brighter, and she smiled, looking down at the ground.

"Thank you, sir."

"It's no problem, really." There was a pause. "Mademoiselle, I've seen you at our meetings, haven't I?" He asked, and Éponine smiled, nodding. She didn't think anyone would have noticed her.

"Well then," Enjolras held his hand out for Éponine to take so he could help her down from the bar. "I insist that you join us for a drink, as a supporter." He smiled at her, and she followed him through the crowd towards Les Amis.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah! Who have you brought for us now then, Enj?" One of the members cheered, and the group all grinned at Éponine.

"This," Enjolras gestured to Éponine, "is the beautiful voice we all heard not half an hour ago."

"Come on lads, get a chair for the lady! Let her sit down and join us!" The Friends all shouted and made a ruckus as a wooden chair was passed around for Éponine to sit on. She smiled and laughed as they all drunkenly tried to get the chair to her, and Enjolras watched intently with his arms folded, his brow fixed in a furrow.

"Your revolutionaries are quite the comedians, Monsieur." Éponine laughed, but Enjolras didn't share it.

"They are not _my_ revolutionaries, Mademoiselle, but they are their own. I did not force them to join my cause to fight for the impoverished, and the sick, and the needy."

"That is not what I insinuated, Monsieur, I merely thought that as their leader, you would-" Enjolras held up his hand to stop Éponine from talking anymore.

"Don't worry about it. Drink." He said, handing the petite girl a cup of red wine. She took it, out of politeness, but fought to hide the tears that burned at her throat and threatened to spill over her cheeks. He nodded, and turned around, leaving Éponine to be introduced to his boys by herself.

Left listening to The Friends, they temporarily distract her from her heartbreak over Marius, and they make her laugh with their jokes and Éponine decides that a few of her favourites are Joly, with his childish happiness that could spread like wildfire, Jean Prouvaire's way of putting things so romantically, and Grantaire's slurred sarcastic reply to nearly every utterance by someone in the group. Yes, sarcasm had always been known as the lowest form of wit, but Éponine was, well, _Éponine, _and so it was her best loved form of wit.

And their talk of change for 'the Motherland' honestly would be inspiring, were it not obvious that they were just a bunch of bourgeois boys who would sooner die in their revolution than cure the diseased or feed the hungry.

Éponine tried to disguise the fact that she was constantly looking for Enjolras. His mood swing had confused and upset her, so much so that it had her at a point of almost tears which she had to conceal from the boys. No revolutionary leader was going to make her cry, not on her watch, not if she could help it.

_Why had he done that? _She thought to herself. _What did I do? Nothing. I simply made the mistake of classing his friends as though they belonged to him. I know nothing of he and his friends, of whom decides to lead and who decides to follow. What does he expect of a street urchin like me? He and his boys are none of my concern, and shall continue to stay that way until I begin to notice a change of the lonely, destitute streets I walk each day._

Éponine stood up, and the group looked at her.

"I'm afraid I have to leave and find my friend, but it was an utmost pleasure to sit here and chat with you all." She smiled at them, thanking them all for the bother of keeping her company. Each insisted that it wasn't a burden, and looked forward to seeing her at their next meeting.

She nodded and turned away, knowing there was no chance of that.

Éponine was back to square one again, because she could not find Aimée anywhere. She asked around for her, but everyone just said the same thing, that they had seen her earlier but not since.

"Gavroche!" Éponine called to the child, and he made his way to her. "If you see Aimée, tell her I have left and gone home."

"Why are you goin' home, Ép?" Gavroche asked, a confused look on her face. "M'sieur Enjolras is looking for you. Shall I fetch him?"

"No, don't do that. If you see him again and he asks of me, tell him that I have left. Goodnight, Gavroche."

Éponine turned and walked toward the doors that led outside. She dodged and ducked her way through couples still dancing, gypsy boys throwing punches at each other for fun, and Enjolras' eyes, whom she had spotted up at the bar again, talking to someone she did not recognise.

She had made it through the doors and out into the cold night air without anyone on her tail. However, once she'd gotten through those doors, it was a different story.

"Éponine," A voice hissed, and her blood ran cold. Trying to make a run for it, she was stopped in her tracks by a rough, calloused hand clamping itself tightly around her wrist. Éponine gasped and looked back, looking down at the hand before slowly trailing her eyes up to look at the face. The voice had already told her who it was anyway.

"Montparnasse, I am tired." Eponine groaned, keeping her eyes to the floor.

"I'm sure you are, after that party. Must be exhausted." The assassin mused, nodding his head in fake sympathy for Éponine. She was confused.

"Why do you mock me? It is nearly daylight, and I have not slept the whole night. I do not have time for this." She tried to wrench her hand from the grip, but Montparnasse only held on tighter.

"Éponine, I want you to do something for me."

"'Parnasse, why could you not have me do it tomorrow? I want to go home-"

"Éponine do not be a pest. You know what I'm asking for." The moonlight caught a glint in his eye, and Éponine felt sick to her stomach when it finally dawned on her what he wanted. Using all the strength she could muster, she yanked her hand from his grip and began walking as quickly as she could in the opposite direction to him.

"You are disgusting, sir!" She called back, quickly snatching a tear off of her cheek with the back of her hand.

"Come now, Éponine." He said, calmly. "You know who I am, and what I can do. I won't hesitate to see my skills used on you, or perhaps someone close to you."

Éponine stopped, and slowly turned to face him.

"And why me? There are plenty of women who take up what you are asking for as a profession, who have far more experience than I, so why _me_?"

"Everybody knows you have the prettiest mouth, Mademoiselle."

Montparnasse's voice and meaning did not make it sound like a compliment. He made it sound dirty, he made Éponine feel tarnished, like she was worth less than the scum on the bottom of her shoe.

Swallowing, she took slow steps toward him. Images of her family's murdered bodies flashed through her mind, making her feel sick. She didn't care about herself dying, and Montparnasse knew this. But it would be worse than death to see one of her younger siblings, laying dead in a gutter somewhere, at the hands of this man in front of her.

So she gulped down what little pride she had left in herself and led him to an alley at the side of the building where the party was. It was dark, and grimy, and Éponine hated to get on her knees here but she reminded herself of the safety of her family because of it.

Montparnasse was handsome, and he was only a few years older than Éponine. But his personality repulsed her, and so everything about him did also.

Just as she had begun to unbuckle his belt, Éponine heard her name being called from the entrance to the alley. Both she and Montparnasse whipped their heads around to see who it was.

Whoever it was could see her clearly due to the moonlight streaming down on her face. However, the figure was silhouetted in the alleyway and therefore no facial features, or anything for that matter, could be made out. But he began to walk forward, and Éþonine caught sight of a red coat.

She stood up quickly. "Enjolras, what are you doing here?" She rushed, brushing down her dress. Enjolras wasn't looking at her though. He was eyeing the slender man who had himself pressed against the wall. Though talle, Montparnasse clearly was no match for the buffness of Enjolras' arms and so, seeing no need to stick around, he darted further into the alley and away from the two.

"Éponine, what are you _doing_? I come outside for some air, and I find this?" He asked, his face showing pity and concern, and a little bit of shock. "If it is money that you need, do not resort to this kind of thing. Here," Enjolras dug into his pockets but Éponine stood back, putting a hand up to stop him.

"I do not want your charity sir. This was not for money. You wouldn't understand." She moved to walk around him, but Enjolras grabbed her arm, gently, a frown spreading on his face when she flinched away, as though he would hit her.

"Then allow me to walk you home. I can't let you leave and know you are walking in the dark by yourself." Éponine nodded.

"As you wish, M'sieur."

The first part of the walk was silent, until Enjolras spoke up.

"Do you love that man? Is that why you were doing... what you were doing?" Éponine laughed a little at how childlike he sounded. He really was The Marble Man who knew very little about love. Not that she knew much more, but she clearly knew more about feelings than him.

"No. I should think I would have to be mad to love him, or someone of his kind."

"Why so? Who is he?"

"What are all these questions, Monsieur? Are you jealous?" Éponine's playful side began to show, but she carried on before she could get an answer from Enjolras. "He is a gang member, of the Patron-Minettes. My father is close with them, so they are… family friends, I suppose. Or even more like family. My father would care more if one of them were to die compared to his real family." She laughed once again, but it was a dead laugh, a hollow one with nothing to it.

"And you'd do _that_ with a family friend?" Enjolras asked, surprise in his voice.

"As I said earlier, sir, you wouldn't understand."

"Then help me to." He stopped, and stared at Éponine, as she turned to look at him. She looked down at the floor, smiling, before moving forward to take both of his hands.

"There is no longer any need for you to understand, M'sieur, because you came and helped me out of that situation, for which I am incredibly grateful."

Enjolras noticed the way that she was extremely polite and well spoken for a child of the streets. It was almost unnatural, and from this he could only deduce that she had been like him, of at least middle class, but had fallen into a life of destitution. He felt sorry for her, more sorry for her than he'd felt about any gamine.

Éponine let go of his hands, and kept walking forward, at a slow pace so Enjolras could catch up when he was ready. He stared down at his hands, unable to forget how small and bony her's were, how cold they were, and how he almost missed the feeling of them being there. He looked ahead at her back, and saw her shoulder blades protruding, looking as though they'd come through her tanned skin at any moment.

After catching up with her, Éponine changed the subject to earlier on in the night.

"So what was your problem tonight then?" She dared, feeling brave.

"What do you mean?" Enjolras turned his head and looked down at her as they walked, confusion playing across his face. She looked up at him and couldn't help but laugh and shake her head.

"Earlier. When you introduced me to your friends and then left. It was near two hours you were gone!"

"Did you not like getting to know my friends?" He teased, and she tutted.

"Well I must admit that I would've liked to have gotten to know you a bit better too!" She confessed, and Enjolras laughed.

"One thing you should know about me is that I'm a very secretive person."

"Wow," Éponine joked. "I wasn't going to ask your deepest, darkest secrets or anything. Maybe just something like your favourite book, or colour."

"My favourite colour? No, I'm afraid that's far too personal." Enjolras replied, very seriously, earning a fit of giggles from Éponine. Her laugh was high pitched, making her seem innocent, but her usually raspy voice and malnourished body told a different story. Still, it was nice for Enjolras to see her smiling, her eyes that looked decades older than her biological age all crinkled up and shining.

"This is where I leave you." Éponine smiled at Enjolras after recovering from her laughing fit. They stood outside a block of apartments, which he recognised.

"Marius lives here, doesn't he?" He asked.

"Yeah, he does." Éponine tried to make it seem as though she hadn't noticed his presence much. But her voice failed her, and broke somewhere in the middle of the short sentence.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Enjolras suddenly blurted out, and Éponine looked at him, then quickly turned away.

"I'd rather not talk about it." She remembered all of the ways he had looked at Cosette at the ABC meetings, and especially tonight. That cold grasp of rejection was creeping up on her again, and the backs of her eyes began to prick with heat.

"Red." Enjolras suddenly began, and Éponine nearly interrupted him with her confusion. "Red, because in 1790, revolutionaries adopted the red flag as one that symbolized the blood of those who died in the demonstrations. Because it is the colour of fire, like the passionate fire that rages in my heart when I talk about change for our country."

_His favourite colour,_ Éponine realised. _How he loves red!_

She hadn't realised she was smiling at him until he called her out on it.

"Why are you smiling at me?" He half laughed, but his question was serious.

"You have a very ungovernable love for red, don't you?" Éponine teased, and Enjolras laughed, dropping his head and shaking it at the floor.

"Good night, Éponine." He smiled at her, and she gave a slight curtsy.

"Good night, _garçon rouge_."


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: This isn't much of a chapter, but it's something that bridges across to what is coming. Thank you for the follows and favourites and reviews I have already, there isn't many but for me, it's honestly so amazing. I appreciate them so much, and as long as they're there, I will definitely continue with this if they will me to do so._**

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><p>Enjolras hadn't seen Éponine again since that night, not counting the time she had stolen his wallet back for him down along the market on Rue du Bout du Monde, around five days after their first meeting. She said she'd have stolen it for herself, but she liked Enjolras and said she never stole from friends. After Enjolras had barely thanked her, she nodded, and took off into the dark shadows of an alley, leaving him standing speechless.<p>

He sat hunched over a desk in the Musain, pondering over his notes for a speech he was planning to deliver soon, at that same market where he met Éponine again, which was always abuzz with the people he was targeting with his speech. Joly sat quietly behind him, reading a book.

It was relatively quiet upstairs, if you ignored the noise coming from the café downstairs.

But Enjolras was startled when the sound of frantic running came up the stairs, and he twisted in his seat to get a view of what was happening.

A flurry of two blonde haired boys had come up, ignoring Mame Hucheloup's protests and swattings with a towel.

Enjolras sat up immediately, and Joly put his book down, standing up from his armchair.

"Gavroche? Navet? Are you well?"

"One of the Thénardier sisters has been glassed, sir!" Navet spoke urgently, his little chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to get a sufficient amount of air in his lungs after being out of breath from the run.

Enjolras stood up and pulled on his coat.

"Where? Where is the injury?" Joly asked, packing the first aid things in his medical satchel.

"It's on 'er head, Joly. Right at the top." Gavroche spoke with a grave tone. "It don't look good. I ain't sure she'll live, what with the amount of blood there was and all!"

Each jumped into action, the sound of their boots stomping down the wooden stairs of the Musain, dust falling down from each step, onto some poor unsuspecting customer underneath.

"Which Thénardier sister?" Enjolras called out to the two smaller boys, but they were too far ahead to hear him.

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><p><em>Éponine awoke to the sound of brawling outside her window. A group of gamines were fighting over something, but she was too bleary eyed to see what it was in their hands. However, she did spot her little sister among them, and leapt to her feet when she caught her eye.<em>

_Azelma seemed to be trying to break it up, but Éponine knew of her little sister's troublesome side and didn't doubt that she had started it. _

_As she ran down the flight of stairs, there was a sickening thud of glass breaking over bone, and Éponine stopped as she heard it, before she quickened her pace. _

_She ran out into the street, which was empty apart from the two girls lying in the road, a pool of blood beginning to get bigger and bigger around them. Éponine's heart felt like it had stopped as she realised that it was her sister who had been attacked, as her friend cradled her unconscious body._

"_Marguerite!" Éponine shouted as she ran to Azelma. "Go up to my room, and grab a towel. Go, now!" Her sister's young friend nodded, and she moved Azelma's form to Éponine's lap, before rushing to her feet to get to Gorbeau House for something to help cease the blood flow._

_Éponine tried to examine her sister's wound. Her tears made it hard, but it was obvious enough to see that she had been glassed, and there was a large gash, filled with shards of green glass, right at the top of her scalp. _

_Two young boys came running to their setting, who Éponine discerned to be Gavroche and his friend Navet._

"_Gavroche!" She called, desperation evident in her voice._

"_What 'appened?" He ran to her, and knelt by Azelma. "We heard the scuffle!"_

"_Gavroche, Navet, do you know any médecins? Someone in training, any friend that can help us! She will die without medical attention!" The two boys both nodded frantically. _

"_We'll be back as soon as we can!" Gavroche called as they sped off back the way they came._

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><p>He hated to say it, but to his relief, Éponine was sitting up, cradling her younger sister in her arms. A bloodied rag was pressed to the top of her scalp, and there was a pool of blood near them, as well as shards of broken glass, what was once, quite obviously a large green bottle.<p>

"Let me see her, Éponine!" Joly called, and Éponine began to sob as she saw help coming. She nodded and moved Azelma so Joly could get a better look at the gash that had stopped gushing blood and now just slowly seeped blood.

"We need to get her back to the Café." Combeferre noted to Enjolras, who was bent over beside him.

"No, there's too many people in the café. We'll take her to the Corinthe." Enjolras interrupted, stoically.

Alright. Help me lift her up. Get her head, don't let it fall… There's a good lad." Combeferre held Azelma in his arms, and began to walk to the wine shop, carefully so as not to let the bleeding start again.

Enjolras looked back down at Éponine who was having trouble getting to her feet. He hooked his hands under her arms and gently hoisted her up, making sure she was steady before he led her to the Corinthe.

Azelma's head was in Éponine's lap as Joly removed the visible glass and stitched the wound shut. There was a bottle of wine that was to be used as an anaesthetic for Azelma when she woke up, but the atmosphere was so dull that if she did not wake soon, someone else was going to open it up.

Éponine had since moved, and Enjolras stared at the blood on the skirt of her dress.

"What happened?" He finally asked, and Éponine shrugged, shaking her head.

"I heard fighting, so I looked out of the window, and saw Azelma in the midst of it all. It looked like she was trying to break it up, but…" She took a deep breath. "I've no doubts that she started it too. Then, as I'm running down the stairs, I hear a glass being deliberately smashed over something, over what sounded like bone, or something that belonged to a body. It turned out that I was right, and it was my little sister being glassed across her skull. Stupid girl." Tears began to fall down Éponine's cheeks as she remembered the sight of her younger sister lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, near death.

"What makes you think she started it?" Enjolras asked, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Éponine laughed. "She is mischievous. She doesn't have control on when she stops."

"Are you like her?"

"Oh, no, M'sieur. If I were, I'd probably be dead by now. No, I am only mischievous when I need to be. If it is a life or death situation. But I know when to stop, when enough is enough. I have boundaries. Azelma, clearly, does not."

Enjolras turned his head to look at the young girl on their large table, sprawled out unconscious, on her front. She looked like Éponine, but they did not share the same beauty.

He looked back to Éponine, who had closed her eyes. Her chest was rising and falling with a steady pace, much different to the one she had earlier. She had long, dark eyelashes that fanned over the top of her high cheekbones, covered by slightly reddened skin. Her waist was tiny and her arms were thin, but Enjolras still found her beauty astounding. Of course, he kept that to himself.

Éponine's eyes fluttered open again, and she sighed a deep, heavy sigh, that sounded like it carried the weight of the world on one breath. Her head lolled to the side to look at Azelma, wondering whether she had woken or not. When she saw that she had not, Éponine turned her head to look now at Enjolras, who let his eyes flit away the immediate moment they made eye contact.

Éponine stared at his golden hair, it's waves almost waterfalling from his roots. She had seen pictures of angels on stained glass windows at l'église Saint-Leu-Saint-Gilles on Rue Saint-Denis, and they too had hair like his; blonde, curly, soft-looking, and quite unkempt but fell perfectly about the face. She wanted to run her hands through it, tug at it, and stroke it tenderly.

She wanted to kiss along his jawline, it's tempting sturdiness calling to her as he stared out of the window, the bright daylight highlighting his features in a white glow. His top few buttons were undone, exposing some of his chest, and Éponine wanted to run her hands over the (what she imagined would be) smooth skin.

Éponine found herself wanting a lot from this man, and when he turned his head to look at her again, his blue eyes boring into her own brown ones, she had to physically stop herself from being obvious about her attraction to him, restraining herself from squirming in her chair with arousal.

"Are you hungry?" Enjolras asked, and Éponine ignored the dull ache of hunger in her stomach, shaking her head no. It wasn't that much of a lie, because although her body needed food, every time she closed her eyes she could see Azelma's bloody wound, and that made her feel sick.

Anyway, she wasn't a charity case. She didn't need to be fed like a starving, dependent child. She could fend for herself, she was always finding little jobs around Paris that paid her. Obviously, they weren't a full time thing, always just a one off. Sometimes, the bibliothécaire on Rue Plumet would let her arrange the shelves when they got too messy, and would pay her around five francs for it. Éponine made a mental note to pay him a visit soon.

"She's waking up," Joly called, rising from his chair where he sat next to Gavroche. Éponine and Enjolras both got to their feet, moving to the table where Azelma laid.

The young girl groaned as the pain of the injury started to hit her, a throbbing that she couldn't describe. Éponine poured a cup of wine quickly, holding it to Azelma's lips so she could drink from it.

"What happened?" Azelma's hoarse voice croaked out, and Éponine frowned.

"We were hoping you could tell us, actually. Are you alright?"

"Not particularly, no. I've got a gaping wound in my head from where I got glassed earlier. Apart from that, I'm fine."

Enjolras, Joly and the others nearly snorted at Azelma's fake nonchalance, accompanied by her argot and rough accent, only Éponine's face of fury was not one to be reckoned with.

"You idiot." She hissed at Azelma. "You could have died today, mucking about, fighting over a piece of bread or, whatever it was you were fighting over. And you lie here and make jokes?"

"Calm down, Éponine." Her impudent sister retaliated, waving her hand about in dismissal. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Only just, if it wasn't for Joly!" Éponine pointed at him, and her sister gave him a warm smile.

"Thank you very much, M'sieur. I am forever grateful."

Joly smiled and shook his head.

"It was nothing. Honestly. You'll need to try and keep the wound from infections, as you'll be very vulnerable and prone to them if you don't keep it clean." Azelma nodded, understanding how grave the effects could be, if she had a careless attitude about it.

A few days later, Éponine had been in town when she heard that all too familiar voice, yelling about basic human rights for all, the unjust monarchy, how the change that was long anticipated was soon to come.

She joined the crowd and stared at Enjolras, standing on a flight of stairs above everybody, eyes looking over the crowd as they shouted words of agreement back.

Marius stood by his side, and Combeferre stood a few steps down, not saying anything, just surveying everything.

Éponine found Gavroche in the crowd, atop Courfeyrac's shoulders, his fist in the air and a proud smile on his face. She couldn't help but smile at how close he had become with the Amis. They thought the world of him and would do everything to make sure he was safe and sound, which did wonders for her because it alleviated the pressure of having to look out for him all the time.

The click-clack of horses hooves was an immediate indicator to Éponine that the police were here. It was apparent to everyone else too, because people began to scarper every which way, almost trampling others.

The Amis looked terrified, realising they had no where to go, and Éponine would roll her eyes if she had the time, but she didn't.

"Courfeyrac!" She called, beckoning him. He shouted for Enjolras, Combeferre and Marius to join him, and, with Gavroche still on his shoulders, he began to follow Éponine, who was nimbly getting around, quick on her feet. He let Gavroche down, who began to do the same, and the six found themselves sneaking through twisting and winding roads, going through houses and kitchens and at one point, a brothel.

It didn't matter though, because they were safely away from the police, who Enjolras was sure had warrants for arrest. They had followed some streets none of the Amis had ever even seen before, and it lead them straight to the Musain.

Éponine sat on a step with Gavroche, each munching on a shiny green apple that she had nipped from one of the kitchens they had escaped through.

"Did you enjoy your tour of Paris désolée?" She asked, but no one spoke. The images were stuck in their heads, of mothers desperate to feed their children, of prostitutes selling their bodies with no better choice, fathers stealing to help pay for their family's well being, and destitute beggars with nowhere to go.

They had seen these kinds of things before, but to see them all so frequently, one after the other, several in one place, it was maddening. The reality of it all could reduce a man to tears, and the fact that it had not already struck one of the four Amis that stood outside the Musain was surprising.

"I suppose you definitely know what you'll want to talk about in your next rally." Combeferre mused, quietly. Enjolras leaned back against the wall, staring at the grey Parisian skies, wondering if there really was a God, and if there was, why he was letting all of this happen.

There was a large crack of thunder, and suddenly, as though the heavens opened up to answer his question, rain began to lash down. Éponine groaned, and her hair began to flatten around her face as the rain poured.

"Come on," Combeferre began walking to the café. "We'll sit in the Musain 'till its over."

Each of them relished in the warmth of the Musain as they escaped the cold rain, bodies shivering and teeth chattering. Gavroche was curled up like a cat, asleep in the armchair next to the fire upstairs, after Éponine stroked his damp hair away from his face in a soothing motion for a while.

"You're cold," Enjolras almost muttered to himself when Éponine had pulled her ragged shawl tighter around her. "Here." He shrugged off his wine-coloured jacket with the red cuffs and collar, and replaced her shawl with it. Éponine would have protested, were it not that his body heat still radiated off of it, making her even more tired than she already was. She wanted to fall asleep in it, clutching it like a child would with their favourite toy.

Plus, his smell was heavenly. It wasn't perfumed, it was a gentle, natural one, mixed slightly with the rain from earlier.

"Won't you be cold?" Éponine asked, stifling a yawn. Enjolras chuckled, shaking his head.

"No, I'll be fine. I've warmed up since we've been in here. I've got to get some work done, will you be okay?"

Éponine didn't even bother hiding her yawn this time, as she nodded her head yes, leaning her head on her arm to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Éponine woke to find that it was only her and Enjolras in the upstairs room of the Musain now. She sat up, as quietly as she could, letting his jacket fall from where it was draped over her front down onto her lap.

"Morning." Enjolras joked quietly from his desk under the candlelight. Éponine laughed, blowing air through her nose, unfurling her legs out from under her.

"Where is everyone?" She asked, but Enjolras never looked up from his papers.

"Marius left just after you fell asleep. Combeferre and Courfeyrac took Gavroche back to their apartment. He was still sleeping soundly, even when they carried him out of the door."

Éponine raised her eyebrows. "Why did they take him?"

"None of us know where he stays, and we couldn't leave him here. It's past closing time, we shouldn't even be here."

"Very well." Éponine stood up, and held Enjolras' jacket in her hand. He still hadn't turned to look at her, his hand furiously writing as he worked on something. _A speech, maybe. _Éponine thought to herself, _Or perhaps a letter._

Slowly, she crept up to him, his back still turned. She was used to sneaking up on people, it was part of the job description.

Éponine successfully stood behind him without catching his attention, and had to stifle a giggle when he jumped slightly after she put her hand on the back of his chair. She leaned down, her breast pressing gently against his shoulder.

"What are you doing, Monsieur?" She asked, her breath whispering past his ear. Enjolras could feel her pressing on his shoulder, his body rigid, and it stiffened even more when her hot breath tickled the shell of his ear.

"I'm writing a letter, Mademoiselle." He replied, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. _Damn it. _He cursed himself in his thoughts.

Éponine nodded, and found she couldn't speak in fear of bursting out with laughter in this poor man's ear. So, clutching his jacket tight one last time, she hung it on the back of his chair, and kissed his cheek quickly, straightening up.

"Thank you for your jacket, sir." She whispered, before bolting out of the room, and down the stairs, into the cold, dark alleyway.

Her fingers ghosted over her lips as she remembered the feel of his cheek. The skin was soft and warm, but Enjolras' jaw was hard, and she recalled how tense he was when she got so close to him. She smiled, at her ability to have this effect on him, but at the same time, she wished he would have been slightly more responsive.

Enjolras' cheek tingled as Éponine's soft lips felt like they'd never even left his skin. There was still some moisture sitting on his cheek, and his mind raced with a million thoughts. He slowly reached back for the warm jacket sitting on the back of his chair, and rose to his feet, pulling it on. He gripped the back of the chair, his knuckles whitening as he let out a puff of air through his mouth.

_This girl was going to be the death of him._

* * *

><p>"Who do you fight for?" Someone called in the café, as Enjolras stood upon a table, rallying his fellow revolutionaries, practicing for his next speech.<p>

"The people!" Enjolras replied, his clenched fist raised in the air.

"And who is your mistress?" Éponine recognised this voice as Grantaire. It sounded like it was more of a tease than anything, but Enjolras still gave a gallant answer, determined not to be put down.

"Patria!" He looked at Éponine when he said this.

She hated to admit it, but there was a sharp pang in her chest as he said that. _Two men, _she thought, _two men that will never feel the same way about me as I do about them. _She was sitting at a table, her head propped up on her hand as she watched Enjolras stride about on the tabletops. Marius was sitting next to her, but she hadn't made much conversation with him that evening, due to his frantic letter writing.

"Éponine?" Marius nudged her, and she pulled her eyes away from Enjolras' long legs, which strode with purpose among the students' heads.

"Hm?" Came her reply, and she sat up, clearing her throat.

"Would you deliver this letter to Cosette for me?" He asked, and Éponine fought the extremely strong urge to say _I'm not your factrice, pour l'amour de Dieu! _and roll her eyes.

She had recently helped Marius find out where Cosette lived, and since then, they had been sending letters back and forth to each other, like two schoolchildren passing notes in the back of a class.

Enjolras had cold-heartedly mocked her for doing it, resulting in a heated argument which ended with Éponine storming away from him.

"_You're only adding fuel to the fire between them." Enjolras pointed out, spitefully, after Marius had given Éponine a letter to deliver to Rue Plumet._

"_What?" She'd heard him, but she couldn't believe he was being so plain about it._

"_I'm just saying. You're only doing this because you're in love with him, but what you're doing is just helping him fall deeper in love with another girl."_

_Éponine could have backhanded him there and then, in front of everyone. Instead, she remembered her decorum, and spoke lowly._

"_I don't care for your opinion, sir. What I do for other people, what I feel for them, how I choose to show my affections, is none of your business. Do you understand me, Monsieur?" She didn't give him a chance to reply, as she got up abruptly from her chair, and stomped out of the Musain._

She hadn't spoken to him since.

"Okay." Éponine acquiesced, almost snatching the letter from Marius' hands. She usually got a few sous out of it anyway, but she had to hide her identity, in fear that Cosette might recognise her from their childhood.

"Letter for Mademoiselle Fauchelevent." Éponine spoke in a low voice through the large iron gates that stood in between her and Cosette. She slipped the thin envelope through, and pulled her cap down tighter around her ears, trying to hide the one long strand of hair that always came loose.

"Thank you, boy." Cosette took the letter, exchanging it for two sous. Éponine nodded, and waited for Cosette to go and get the letter for Marius from her house.

Éponine silently picked at the threads on her chemise, vowing never to do this again. Although hurt by Enjolras' words, she had taken heed of them, and every single one of them was true. She was only kindling the fire between the two, and although she knew it seemed spiteful, she would stop, because she didn't want to become any further involved with it.

She gave an awkward bow before she took off back to the Musain to find Marius, and give him his letter. There was no doubt that, after reading it, he would immediately take to writing another one.

All of the students teased him, likening him to a love stricken little girl, yearning for her prince to come. He'd even earned the nickname _Petite Princesse, _which Éponine knew he only had himself to blame for, constantly fawning adoration over Cosette - sometimes in the middle of an important meeting - which, as could be easily guessed, agitated Enjolras.

Of course, that still didn't stop the hurt she felt over him. Seeing him so happy writing and receiving these letters made her happy, of course, but knowing that she was not the cause of his grinning and beaming was heart wrenching.

The buzz that filled the Musain before she'd left had now been amplified. Éponine could hardly hear herself think as she waded through everyone, wondering what was going on.

"Gavroche, what's happened?" She asked the little gamin, who was sitting on a table, surrounded by students talking rapidly.

"Ain't you heard?" Éponine's confused face urged him to go on. "General Lamarque's dead!"

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: God this chapter was terrible. I'm sorry. But, as I said beforehand: it's all bridging. Stuff starts kicking off after this chapter, as we all know it does once the death of Lamarque is announced. And if it's any consolation, I may or may not be changing the rating to M after the uploading of chapter 5. yaaaaas_**

**_factrice: post woman_**

**_pour l'amour de Dieu: for God's sake/for the love of god_**


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras sat quietly while his friends discussed the death of General Lamarque. It wasn't a dead silence, but one where he was too immersed in deep thought to even bother contributing to the ongoing conversation around him. Not until the perfect idea struck him, anyway.

"We'll begin the revolution on the day of his funeral." He mused, quietly, yet the rest of the students heard still, and fell into a silence, unsure on whether he'd explain or not.

"But that's in two days, Enjolras." Combeferre finally spoke, with a questioning tone.

"We'll send word round. Lamarque was a man of the people, it seems only right that our revolution begins on the day that we bid him farewell."

"Do we begin it at the procession?" Bahorel asked.

"We'll pay our respects to him, and then we'll declare revolution. From there, we'll build our barricades, and the people of Paris will rise to join us in our fight." There was a graceful air about Enjolras' words, a regality to them, with mild traces of uncertainty, but only to those who were scrutinizing him.

Suddenly, following the silence, the group broke into a loud discussion, planning the upcoming event, assigning different roles and thinking of things that needed to be done.

* * *

><p>Enjolras didn't leave the Musain until the pitch black of night. His eyes were heavy with weariness, but he still held his lantern out in front of him, keeping his wits about him.<p>

The flicker of the candlelight caught a little figure making its way toward him, and Enjolras squinted his eyes to get a better look at the silhouette in the shadows. The candle lit the face of the person slightly, and Enjolras frowned.

"Éponine? What are you doing out here?" He asked, grabbing her shoulder.

"Monsieur!" She breathed, looking behind her. "I should ask you the same question."

"No, you shouldn't. It's late, why are you out?"

"I'm on my way to Montparnasse's house." Éponine replied sheepishly, looking down at the ground.

Enjolras shuddered, remembering the tall man who had been trying to get Éponine to perform unspeakable acts in the alleyway beside the inn a few weeks ago.

"What for?" His words were slick with venom. "He's a rotten person. Surely you live with your parents?"

Éponine shrugged and Enjolras saw the reddening of her cheek as she looked down again. He sighed, finally understand, and shook his head.

"Well you can't go to Montparnasse. Come, you can stay with me." Éponine's head shot up, her eyes searching Enjolras' face for something he wasn't sure of, but he knew that if it was for him to revoke his offer, she wouldn't find it.

He took her hand, not waiting for an answer, and began to lead her the rest of the way to his apartment. She followed, not protesting, still shocked at his offer.

When they arrived at his apartment, Éponine stood in the doorway behind Enjolras, reluctant to come in.

"You can come in, Mademoiselle. I didn't mean for you to sleep in the corridors." Enjolras shrugged his jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair that sat by a desk under the biggest window in the room.

Éponine took two steps into the room, so she could close the door behind her, but didn't come any further. Enjolras turned to stare at her, confused.

"Are you well, madame?"

She didn't answer his question.

"It's very nice…" She almost sounded like she was talking to herself, but Enjolras replied anyway.

"It's not much," He looked around his living room, at his mediocre furniture and his average books on his ordinary bookshelf. "but it's home." He always counted himself lucky to have a roof over his head, francs in his pocket, food in his cupboards, and a warm bed to sleep in. However, tonight, he would be experiencing the feel of the canapé under him, as his bed would be occupied.

"Come." Enjolras led Éponine to his bedroom, and she sat down on his bed, pushing her hands into the plush mattress. She hadn't felt a bed as soft as this since she was small, her parents' bed was extremely similar back in their room at the inn they once owned. Memories surfaced of her and Azelma, arranging their dolls against the backboard of the bed, laughing and giggling to themselves.

It had been a long time since she had been truly happy.

"I'll be on the couch, if you need me." Enjolras said quietly, bowing his head. He spun, and walked towards the door, before he felt a small, bony hand grab his own.

He turned slowly to face Éponine, and looked down at her.

"Thank you, Monsieur." She whispered.

"It's no bother, Mademoiselle. Now-" Éponine didn't give him the chance to finish. She was up on her tiptoes, face tilted towards his, lips pressing on his.

At first, Enjolras was surprised. His hands hovered in the air, unsure of where to put them. But soon, as their lips began to move against each other, he dropped them and placed them lightly on her hips, the pads of his thumbs slowly rubbing circles over her hipbones.

Soon, Éponine was sliding her hands from his chest, reaching to unbuckle his belt, but Enjolras pulled away.

"You don't have to do that." He breathed, and Éponine rolled her eyes.

"I want to do that." She smirked, and Enjolras felt himself harden even more than he already was. Her smirk drove him crazy, the way it sat perfectly on her face, provoking a dimple on her right cheek.

"Your lips are so beautiful." Enjolras whispered against them, kissing them again and again. His fingers loosened the ties at the back of her dress, and it fell to the floor beneath her, leaving her naked in front of him. He took her hand and helped her step out of the puddle at her feet that was her dress, and, sensing her self consciousness, pulled her close to him.

Enjolras rested his hands at the small of Éponine's back, and placed kisses from her jaw, all the way down her neck to the top of her shoulder, while she shed him of his shirt.

She marvelled at the sight of his build, still unable to believe that such a beautiful face could hide a body this amazing. He truly was The Marble Man, as she ran her hands over the smooth skin of his chest and abdomen, she felt the hard muscle underneath them.

Suddenly, they were kissing again, and Enjolras pushed them back until the back of Éponine's legs hit the bed frame. She sat down, pulling him with her, so he leaned down, a hand either side of her thighs, as she worked to undo his trousers.

He kicked off his boots and pulled his trousers off, throwing them to a corner of the room, to be forgotten for the night. Soon, she was under him, and he was exploring her body with his lips, lingering at the swell of her breasts and over her taut nipples, swirling his tongue around them a few times.

Her core was throbbing, slick with her juices. Enjolras spread them around with his fingers, before slipping one into her. Éponine let out a cry as she felt him move his finger back and forth painstakingly slowly, and he groaned at the feel of her tightness, and the sight of her face contorted with the fire he was igniting in her.

He slipped another finger in, curving them both at their deepest and biting his lip when she arched her back off of the bed underneath her in pleasure. Enjolras let out a guttural moan when Éponine grabbed his aching shaft, letting her hand run up and down it with a gentle squeeze here and there. He began circling her clit with his thumb, and she shouted with bliss at the sensation, begging for him to replace his fingers with his length, moaning his name over and over.

Enjolras complied, and in a swift movement, did exactly what he was asked. Before she could gather her thoughts, Éponine was gasping for air as Enjolras pounded into her, hard and fast. He rested his forehead in the crook of her neck, nipping at her shoulder and sucking at the skin, leaving deep red marks in several places.

Her hands found their way into his soft, golden curls and she clutched at them, bony fingers weaving around the locks and brushing them back.

His head lifted up to place his mouth on hers, desperate for her to kiss him with her beautiful mouth. It was a sloppy kiss, but it carried meaning, and each felt like they had begun to understand the other.

Pressure was building rapidly inside each of their bodies, and soon, Éponine was digging her nails into Enjolras' back, her mouth spreading into an 'o' shape as pleasure coursed through her veins, crashing around her body. A few more hard, swift thrusts, and Enjolras was flooding himself inside of her as her muscles clenched around his arousal, whispering her name with adoration.

They lay breathless for a while, clutching each other like they were the only things they had left in the world.

"The revolution begins in two days." Enjolras whispered, and Éponine squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't dare criticize it out loud, but she was free to think whatever she wanted about it in the safety of her own mind.

_Stupid, stupid boys. What are they thinking, marching to their own deaths? _

"Isn't that… the day of General Lamarque's funeral procession?" She bit out.

"Yes." Enjolras replied, moving to lie by her side. "We'll pay our respects to him, and assemble our barricades in his memory."

_There might as well be a mass grave by General Lamarque's tomb if they carry on with what they are planning._

"You're tired." Éponine ran her thumb underneath Enjolras' eye, and tutted. "You need sleep." She didn't want to ask anymore questions because they'd only provoke further annoyance in her. Instead, she stroked his hair with a soothing motion that reminded him of his mother's caring hands.

Enjolras couldn't argue. After the exhausting day he'd had, he was surprised he was still awake even then. Éponine's hands were lulling him into a much needed slumber, and soon, everything was black.

When he awoke the next day, his cheeks reddened furiously at the sight of Éponine in his bed, naked beside him. His arm was draped across her hips, and her hand was still entwined in his wild curls. Enjolras felt like his drowsiness had made him act as though he was drunk that night prior, but he didn't regret any of it.

He untangled himself from Éponine as gently as he could, trying his hardest not to wake her. He dressed himself quickly, and looked fondly upon her sleeping form for a while, almost feeling at peace when he watched her chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm, not a care evident across her relaxed face.

Enjolras decided to write her a note instead of just leaving her in his bed without saying another word. It could possibly be his last time seeing her, if the revolution went wrong, and that was a thought Enjolras found too hard to bear. Months ago, it would have been a different story. But this poor gamine had cracked The Marble Man's stone heart, etching her name onto it too.

_Éponine,_

_Stay safe in the next few days. Stay away from all barricades, and keep yourself from trouble. Paris will be vulnerable, and therefore so shall you, and all others who walk its streets. Please heed my words._

_You are, and always will be, my Patria._

_Enjolras_

He left her with the note on the desk beside the bed and a kiss on her forehead, that lingered over three seconds, he was sure. Then, he was gone, to the Musain for the final meeting and preparations for this deadly revolution that would surely steal lives away from young men who still had their's far ahead of them.

Éponine woke a few hours after, at first confused of her surroundings. However, memories of the night before began to come back, and she smiled, her hand curling in the sheet beside her at the memory of how she felt. But then, happiness turned to panic, as she didn't feel Enjolras beside her, and she shot up, looking about the room frantically.

Her eyes fell onto the letter on the desk, and she snatched it up, reading over it again and again. She felt her heart twist as she read the last line, but she didn't dwell on it for long.

Éponine could nearly feel her heart break in two as she realised that she might not see Enjolras again, that there was a high chance he wouldn't come out of this battle alive. Of course, she knew this long ago, but the enormity of the situation was truly impacting on her now, in her sudden realisation of never being able to see any of them again.

Enjolras, Gavroche, Marius, Grantaire's sarcasm, Joly's hypochondria, Courfeyrac and his caring heart, Bahorel's humour, the list going endlessly on. She would never experience time with these people again.

And it was then that Éponine decided that she needed to get herself a place behind the barricades with these people, for being with them one last time.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a large turnout at Lamarque's funeral. Éponine pulled her cap down as she saw the carriage carrying his coffin approaching. She had done this far too many times, dressing like a boy, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to see her friends again if she didn't endure this nuisance.

Across from her stood Enjolras, unaware of her presence, a solemn look on his face. Combeferre stood next to him, his head bowed in respect. He was clutching a large red flag, but kept it down. Éponine knew that would be coming into use any moment now.

Beside her stood Courfeyrac, Joly and Marius, but they didn't recognise her because of her bindings, trousers and cap. She kept her head down, flicking her eyes up every so often to see what was happening. Everything was silent, apart from the sound of horses hooves clip-clopping along the gravel.

As the carriage drew close, Enjolras seemed to be signalling Marius, and before Éponine knew it, he had taken the large flag off of Combeferre, jumped into the middle of the procession and began waving it around, shouting cries of revolution. Then, Marius joined in, followed by Courfeyrac, then Combeferre, and then all of Les Amis de l'ABC had flooded out into the middle of the funeral. Éponine joined them, and soon, Enjolras and Marius were on top of the carriage that carried Lamarque's body.

Flags waved, a flash of blue, white and red everywhere Éponine looked. Civilians began to join in, and the procession quickly changed from a funeral to a rally, one of the largest Éponine had ever seen. There was a slight moment of pride for Enjolras in her heart, but it quickly turned to anger again, for his naivety and stupidity. Still, she walked by the carriage, looking up at Marius and Enjolras, praying silently for them, for everyone that was to take part in this revolution.

They rounded a corner, and the cortège came to a halt as the National Guard stood before them, a group of around 30 of them on horseback, swords out in front of them. Éponine held her breath, and heard the rattling and clicking of guns being drawn and loaded, the tension thick in the standoff.

Suddenly, there was a gunshot, and a bystander fell. An older woman, with a growing bloodstain on her chemise, dropped to the floor, and there was an uproar.

"No!" Combeferre screamed, running towards her. "No! She's an innocent woman! Murderer!" He took the gunman by the collar and hauled him out of the crevice he hid in. The National Guard began to race forward on their horses, and the killing began. Guns could be heard, and the sickly sound of swords slicing and piercing skin filled the air.

"To the barricades!" Enjolras shouted, and there was a mad scramble, with different groups breaking off to go and build barricades around the city. Éponine looked around frantically, and saw a flash of red, followed by Combeferre and Prouvaire, so she ran after them.

They weren't running for very long. They came to the Rue de la Chanvrerie and all around them furniture seemed to be falling from the skies. People threw chairs, tables, desks, even bed frames and, at one point, a piano fell, all through windows and balconies and down flights of stairs and through doors. A nearby stable was used, as a group of men barged down the door and added it to the barricade. A cart was upturned and broken up, piled onto the large amount of furnishings that sat in the middle of the street, which began to look more and more like a steady barricade.

* * *

><p>When theirs had been built, Enjolras stood proudly at the top, between Combeferre and Marius. He fastened his red flag to the top of the barricade, and turned to face the large group of revolutionaries.<p>

"Today, we begin our fight for democracy, our fight for freedom. Have faith in yourselves, and don't be afraid. We shall bring change to our country as she is trapped under corruption!"

There was a cheer, and an exchange of words, before everyone mostly disbanded to take their roles of keeping watch, loading muskets and carbines, securing the barricade and so on, so forth.

Éponine took to loading the guns, keeping her head down but leaving her ears open. She learned that Enjolras had sent a volunteer to find out when the National Guard was planning their attack, a man who claimed he had been one once, years ago. She turned her back when he passed her out alongside Courfeyrac and Bossuet, praying that he hadn't caught a glimpse of her face. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as they walked by without taking any notice of her, relaxing her tense shoulders.

"Éponine?" Her little brother's high pitched voice sounded surprised at her presence. Éponine snapped her head around to look at him, and threw her hand over his mouth, dragging him into an empty shop.

"Be quiet, Gavroche! I'm not supposed to be here. Don't go shouting my name around the place! How did you know it was me?"

"Ép, you're my sister. Your disguise ain't nothing to me, I could recognise you a mile off. What're you doin' here?"

Éponine looked around, making sure no one was there to hear. "I came because I wanted to join the revolution. But, y'know, they don't let girls join, so I had to resort to this." She gestured to her disguise.

"Oh, right."

"You shouldn't be here either, Gavroche. You're too young for this!"

Gavroche snorted, and leaned back against the door. Éponine hated the fact that he was far too mature for his age.

"Don't underestimate little people, Ép. We may look easy pickin's, but we've got some bite!"

Éponine sighed, and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him slightly.

"Just stay safe, Gavroche. Do not get yourself killed for the sake of this silly revolution!"

"I thought you said you were here to fight?"

"I am. I just - Oh, never mind! Just promise me you will not tell a single soul that I am here. Okay?"

"Alright. But you gotta stay safe too."

"I will. Now, go on." Éponine ushered Gavroche out of the doors and blew out a breath, holding her hand to her forehead.

She returned to her position of cleaning and loading the guns outside, thinking about this silly mess she had gotten herself into.

She thought of a conversation she'd had with Azelma a few weeks ago, when she had been laying on the grass in the Jardin du Luxembourg, cooling off by La fontaine Médicis in the May heat.

"_What are you doing, 'Ponine?" Azelma came across her sister and sat by her side, pulling out tufts of grass._

"_I'm thinking. I like to think. And wonder." Éponine replied, placing her hands behind her head._

"_Is that so?" Azelma giggled, amused by her sister's state of relaxation and contentedness._

"_Yes, 'Zelma. Have you nothing better to do than sit here and bother me?"_

"_Nope. Absolutely nothing. So, what do you like to think about?" Azelma leaned back on her elbows, squinting to shield the hot sun from her eyes as she scrutinized Éponine's face._

"_Many different things, I suppose." Éponine paused, and closed her eyes. "I enjoy the nice things that come free in life, like the beauty of the summer sun, and the gentle breeze I feel on my skin every so often. Who knows whether one of these days I shall be prevented from doing so?"_

She was glad she took that approach on life, because now, Éponine looked at the situation she was standing in, and she couldn't see a way out. There was no light at the end of tunnel, for her, for Gavroche, for Enjolras, for anyone that was partaking in this.

She knew her own people. Everyone would be too afraid to rise, too unsure of the circumstances. They didn't understand that they had rights, they didn't _know _they had rights. Éponine wanted to kick herself for not realising this sooner, for if she had warned someone, then it might have stopped this ongoing death march.

She snapped away from her daydreaming state as she realised the man who had volunteered to find out the Guards' plan had returned. Everyone begun to gravitate towards where he spoke to Enjolras of the matter.

"Tell us, sir, of what you have learned from these men."

The elder man nodded and Enjolras, and looked around at everyone before recounting his experience.

"I counted each man, and be warned that they have armies to spare." Éponine squinted at the man, she had seen him somewhere, but she couldn't place her finger on it. "They plan to starve you out - so there will be no attack tonight. They are planning to get us to our weakest, so that we may surrender, and if there is no sign of a truce then they will attack and there is the chance that we will be too feeble to fight them off."

Everyone nodded, taking heed of the Guards' plans.

"Liar!" There was a sudden outburst, and Éponine recognised Gavroche's voice. The men looked around at him, confused, until he spoke again.

"Good evenin', Dear Inspector! Lovely evenin', isn't it?" Éponine opened her mouth in shock, remembering now the face she recognised. "I know this man, my friends. His name's Inspector Javert!" The students turned their heads to look at him again, and closed themselves around him, grabbing him and taking his weapons off of him.

"Well done, Gavroche!" Courfeyrac called, holding the arms of a struggling Inspector Javert.

"What should we do with this snake?" Prouvaire snarled, holding a gun to Javert's head.

"Tie him up and throw him in the tavern. We will decide your fate, _Inspector_ Javert." Enjolras spat, watching as Javert fought to free himself from the grip of the students holding him, dragging him towards the Corinthe.

"We keep looking forward." Marius called out.

Then, everyone fell silent. The sounds of marching feet could be heard, in a rhythm that could only be attributed by the National Guard.

"They're coming!" Different voices shouted and warned, and Éponine held a gun out for Marius to take, keeping her head down.

"To your positions!" Combeferre ordered, and everyone began to move, taking their places at the barricade. Above them, women closed their shutters and locked them. Men held their guns in shaking, sweaty hands, and crouched down, readying themselves.

Éponine took a loaded flintlock pistol and crouched down below Marius, watching his every move.

"Hold your fire!" He called, as the armed soldiers rounded the corner. "Save your gunpowder!"

"Take aim!" A National Guardsman shouted, and the rattling of guns being aimed at the barricade could be heard. "Who's there?" He shouted again, this time to those behind the structure.

There was a pause, as everyone looked to Enjolras.

"French Revolution!" He called, gallantly.

There was another pause, and then, a scream of "Fire!" Soon, gunshots could be heard, from both sides, followed by screaming and shouting. Éponine looked around frantically, her ears felt like they'd gone numb with the loudness all around her.

"They're climbing the barricade!" Someone cried, and she stood up, craning her neck to see. Enjolras had just grabbed a gun off of a Guardsman, and propelled the butt into his chest, knocking him backwards off of the structure. Marius climbed across the barricade, grabbing a barrel of gunpowder from the stacks.

"Marius, no!" Gavroche yelled, and Éponine gasped, pushing Gavroche further back. She climbed the barricade, and stopped in shock for a second when she saw a Guardsman aim his gun at Marius.

Then, she jumped to action, knowing immediately what she had to do.

There was a scuffle, as she cocked her gun and held it to the Guardsman's chest. He aimed for her shoulder, and she put her hand in front of the gun. She pulled the trigger, and two gunshots rang out. Then she was down, with a blinding pain in her hand and her right shoulder, but a triumphant smirk on her face as she watched the life leave the soldier's eyes, and a growing red mark form on the chest of his uniform.

"Fall back! Fall back or I'll blow the barricade! Marius shouted, holding a lit torch to the barrel, and the Guardsman looked at him with shock.

"Blow it up and take yourself with it!" He warned, and the gunfire fell silent. The Amis looked up at him, and Marius laughed, a hollow laugh, full of nothing.

"And myself with it." He repeated, lowering the torch nearer the barrel.

"Back! Get back!" The Guardsman screamed at his men, and they ran back.

Enjolras took the torch off of Marius and made his way down the barricade cautiously, letting out a few breaths of relief. Yes, it had worked in getting the Guardsmen to back off, but had it not then they would all have been dead, and then what would their efforts have been for?

He handed the torch to Courfeyrac who took it away, and left to find the person he saw struggling with the soldier. He found him and, crouching down, he began to speak to him.

"Are you well? That was some brawl over there. Do you need help getting up?" The person shook their head, never looking up once. Enjolras frowned and gave him a once over, and gasped when he saw blood smeared over the chemise the person was wearing.

"Dear God above, you're bleeding profusely! You've been hurt! Let me get some help - " He started to rise, but a small hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, and Enjolras was confused at his familiarity with it.

"Don't leave…" A raspy voice croaked out, with a higher pitch than Enjolras would have expected.

"But you need a physician!" He cried.

The person pulled their cap off, letting thick, long brown hair fall down their shoulders. Enjolras' throat dried as he saw his - _her_ - face. He couldn't find the words. He knew only one.

"É...Éponine?" He stammered, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "What… are you doing here?" He was whispering now. He wasn't angry. There wasn't time to be angry.

"I couldn't let you all just… die. I couldn't survive alone while all my friends were dead. I just couldn't." Éponine began to sob, and Enjolras sat down beside her.

"Where do you hurt? Can I move you?" He asked gently, and Éponine shook her head. There was a black hole in her hand, dripping with blood.

"It hurts everywhere. Just please, stay with me. Please." Enjolras nodded stoically. "I'm sorry," She whispered. "I didn't mean to die so quickly."

"Well you're not dead, so you needn't worry." He replied, stroking her face. "I just didn't expect you to be here. I suppose I should have. You're a stubborn soul." Éponine laughed, but the pain was too much, and she started convulsing. "Shhh." Enjolras pulled her into him gently. "I'm here."

"Monsieur Enjolras…" She croaked, and he looked down at her, with watery eyes.

"Yes, Mademoiselle?" He smiled at her, but it failed him as it wavered.

"Win it for me." The corners of her mouth curved up into a feeble smile.

And then everything went black.

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><p><strong><em>AN: It carries on from here. I don't want to give away any spoilers but this definitely isn't the last chapter. I'm sure you can tell that everything in this chapter, from the scenes to the dialogue to the sequence, was inspired by the musical and the movie. And to give credit, the dialogue between Éponine and Azelma was inspired by a conversation that Tsarevich Alexei of Russia had with his older sister. It reminded me strongly of Éponine, God knows why. I suppose it's because she probably always knew that her life wouldn't be that long anyway, were she to live on the streets for all of it._**


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: So this chapter is, I suppose, long awaited. It's really only a chapter to tell you what's happening, but it's the longest so far. I had horrible writer's block during this chapter, so much so that I literally wrote a 'I'm giving up on this' note for you guys. But yeah, this morning I had a splash of inspiration so I quickly got to writing, and here I produce Chapter 7. I've fully been working on this since the upload of chapter 6, which was like, the 25th, right? Gosh. Anyway, enjoy! I hope.**_

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><p><em>Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut. "Éponine?" He whispered, and opened his eyes again. "Éponine. Come now. Please, answer me."<em>

_But there was silence on Éponine's part. She lay limp on his shoulder, and Enjolras let a tear roll down his cheek as he kissed her forehead. Stoic, impassive, detached Enjolras, with someone dead on his shoulder. Someone he had opened up to not 48 hours earlier, in ways that he never thought he could with another human being. Someone with whom he had shared what little emotions he had on his person, who accepted them gratefully, earning his trust. _

_What was it that he felt? Lust? Love? Sorrow? There were too many words flooding into his head. Words were what he was usually best with, being someone who was studying for law, but not now. Now he hated words. All of these words that were trying to label what he felt, trying to label him as a person in that current moment. He just felt like he wanted to scream to the world and its God about how unjust everything was. He wanted to kill a hundred men, he wanted Éponine to be alive, he wanted to win this revolution for her but he wanted to win it with her. He didn't want to identify his feelings, he didn't want any of this to have happened._

_He manoeuvered himself into a position where he could pick Éponine up in his arms, and he got to his feet. Everyone stood around him. _

"_Her name was Éponine," He called, "And she was a true example of Patria. She is representative of those that we fight for. She came here, hoping for a better future, but she died before she ever got to see one. Let it be known that, whether we win here or not, we also fight, like she did, as voices for those who wish to see a better future but cannot speak up. To see prejudice be clamped down on, to see those, who gorge themselves on money, and food, and wine, and other privileges that some do not even know exist, to see them cut down to size."_

_There was a moment of silence for her, and Enjolras stared down at her lifeless face. He shook his head, swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. He had never felt like this before, and it was scaring him, but he realised it was now too late to begin feeling anything. He would revert back to his old ways. It was time again to focus on the revolution._

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><p>Pain. Darkness. A damp feeling on the cold floor beneath her. More pain, and silence. No one breathing, yet there were bodies everywhere. No one breathing, except for her and her ragged attempts.<p>

The pain was almost unbearable. Éponine ached everywhere, but even through her confusion, she could tell that she'd been shot, with a gun. There was a concentrated pain in one area, and then it spread out over her body.

Bleary eyes began to let light in again, and she tried to speak, to make some sort of signal to anyone that might have been listening that she was alive. But no noise came out.

She blinked a few times, willing herself to regain some of her strength so she could look around the room she lay in. Her neck craned slowly, but what she saw only let waves of tears fall from her eyes.

She was laying in between the bodies of her friends. Bahorel lay with his mouth and eyes wide open, Jehan Prouvaire in the most angelic form she could ever imagine anyone laying in death. Gavroche, _her Gavroche, _lay beside her, his eyes wide open and his hands clasped at his midriff, as though he lay in a coffin. She let out a strangled cry at the sight of her baby brother, dead, stone cold dead on a stone cold floor surrounded by other people in the same position.

Éponine wept. She wept for the people that lay around her and she wept at the fact that she lived and they did not and she wept the future of France, because if these were the only people who would speak out against injustice, and they had been shot down, _who else would be left to speak out?_

She knew she couldn't stay where she was. She knew that she had to go on, get herself out of there. As she looked around more, she realised that she was still in a shop behind the barricade they had all built. Soon, someone would come to throw the bodies into a mass grave, and she knew that if she was caught alive, as a revolutionary she would be tried for treason against the King and executed.

Éponine dragged herself from that wretched place. The pain was beyond belief, like nothing any word could describe - both mentally and physically. But thankfully, her will to live was slightly stronger, and it gave her the strength to crawl through back alleys and dark streets until she got herself some sort of help, if anyone would give it. Pain struck through her body, and she sobbed, cried, and groaned as she made her way through the streets. At one point she was on her feet, but for less than thirty seconds, and she had only made around five short steps. She was too feeble to stand.

She had come to her last stretch, and she could not make it anymore. She lay on a patch of grass under a tree that gave her shade outside the Jardin du Luxembourg, and people did not see her. They walked past her like she was blending in with the grass, like she was worth nothing. _In all fairness, _she thought to herself, her mind being her last wavering strength, _I am worth nothing. But surely someone must help me? Surely someone will be kind, will be good? _But Éponine was too feeble to shout out, or cry for anyone to notice her, to save her from the pitch black abyss she could feel herself sinking into. So she watched the sky instead, her eyes slowly shutting once more, awaiting her certain death.

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><p>Joly was a nervous soul. He wasn't a coward, never that, but he definitely wasn't the bravest of them all. There were often times when he'd really worry everyone with his oddness, like how he would check his pulse during a thunderstorm, or if he sneezed he would fret for ages afterwards that he'd probably contracted some deadly disease from the streets. He could be called a coward, but the sacrifices he was making when joining the revolution just proved otherwise.<p>

And there's a thin line between cowardice, and needing to save your own life when someone else depends on it _as well _as you. _Especially _when you're a student doctor, who would have been preparing to take the Hippocratic Oath, promising to always preserve life whenever possible.

When the gunfire had fallen silent, Joly awoke, and pried himself from the spot he was stuck to. The soldiers hadn't realised he was there. With a few grazes to his skin drawing blood, he had been knocked unconscious and immediately presumed dead. As he looked around, he couldn't tell for a second whether he was relieved or offended. Of course, he quickly chose relief, but the pain set in as he fully registered that all of his friends were dead. All of them dead and gone, and he would never speak to any of them again.

He walked through the bodies, weeping at the loss. He was unashamed of his tears, letting them wet his face like they would a bawling child's face.

Joly ascended the stairs in the Musain, and sobbed as he saw Enjolras' body sprawled out on the floor. He kneeled beside him, and grabbed his hand, shaking his head at how warm it still was. He bowed his head in silence, letting nothing but his sniffles fill the air.

He jumped back when he felt the hand he was holding twitch and convulse, and he stared in disbelief and horror as Enjolras' fingers quivered. Joly moved forward again and took the blonde man's pulse, his eyes widening when he felt the weak beating against the skin on the inside of his wrist.

But he heard voices downstairs, authoritative, firm voices. Soldiers, who had come back to count the dead.

Joly panicked, and looked around. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned in disgust at the idea that popped into his head, but he knew he needed to survive to save Enjolras. He dipped his hand in the blood that had pooled around Enjolras and rubbed it around his shirt and face. Then, he laid down on his back, limbs sprawled limply as if they were admitting his defeat, and he played dead.

"Stay dead, Enjolras. Don't open your eyes, don't move. Stay where you are." Joly warned through gritted teeth, not even sure if his friend could hear him.

He heard two soldiers come up the stairs, and there was silence as they stared around the room. He could feel their eyes lingering on him, burning holes through his body.

"Are they all just going to be thrown into a big grave?" One soldier asked the other. He sounded quite young, his tone like that of a child asking questions to his mother.

"I should think so. It's sad, y'know." The second one sounded just as young as the first. "No one should have had to die but… revolution against the King isn't the way forward." Joly almost rose from the (_fake_) dead to correct this soldier on his ignorance. Les Amis de L'ABC were not just a group of people who wanted regicide. They wanted the painful blatancy of class differentiation crushed, the crippling weight of the unjust government to be relieved, the easy action of passing out a starving man with no remorse or second thought to be obliterated.

"Come on. I don't want to be here when they come to collect the dead."

Once Joly was sure the coast was clear, he got to his knees and checked that Enjolras was still alive. He gasped with disbelief at his stubbornness as he counted eight bullet wounds around his torso, and was careful when picking him up. He carried him down the stairs and out of the Musain, all the while checking for any Guardsmen still lurking around. When he was sure that there wasn't a single soul around, he began making his way down back streets and alleys, careful not to run into the main streets as two fugitives, the leader and a participant of a revolution against the monarchy, so as not to get arrested.

The streets were dark and cold, and Joly was tired and hurting but he knew that he had to carry on until he found a hospital - or any sort of sanctuary - to bring Enjolras to. There was still fresh blood coming from his wounds, and his breathing had become even more shallow than it already was.

Joly found himself on Rue Saint-Antoine, and the wide street was nearly empty, apart from a few gentlemen strolling the length of it. A few metres ahead, he could see a church, or some kind of religious building, and it looked large enough that it might house two travelling men who had been 'shot in the crossfire of that _awful _uprising just two days ago!'.

Joly kicked the door a few times, unable to knock with his fists. A young woman answered, a nun who seemed very timid. Joly inwardly groaned at himself as he realised he had turned up at a female convent, sarcastically commending himself on how amazing his refuge-picking skills were.

"Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait. This man - he is only young - has been hurt terribly! We were caught in the crossfire of the revolution, he has taken eight bullets to his chest and I fear he will die soon if I cannot tend to his wounds in a sterile area. I beg of you to lend me a room to save his life, please!"

The young woman stared in horror at Enjolras' limp form in Joly's arms, and nodded her head, opening the large wooden door wider. Joly thanked her and stepped in, taking a moment to notice the difference in warmth as he crossed the threshold.

He followed the lady down the halls with a quick pace, as she led him to a smallish room that was unoccupied.

The bedsheets were white, which Joly grimaced at as he knew they wouldn't be when he was finished. The room was dark until the woman lit each candle with haste, and he noticed the layers of dust that covered each surface, showing that the room had clearly not been in use for a while.

Joly sent the young lady away with instructions to bring him a bowl of hot water and the medical equipment needed for him to patch Enjolras back up. He blew the dust off of the stands that he'd be using and took Enjolras' jacket and shirt off, grimacing at the blood that was smeared all over his skin and the wounds that would have been fatal for anyone else, were they not as _stubborn and hardheaded_ as Enjolras.

When he had been brought the equipment by a few nuns who had each gasped at the sight of Enjolras on the bed, he got to work, extracting, cleaning, sewing and patching.

* * *

><p>Jean Valjean had always been a perfect example of how to live life.<p>

Well, maybe not a _perfect _example, due to his many years in prison, and his constant dodging of the law.

However, his personality and his morals were still golden and pure. After all, he had taken on the burden of raising a child he was not obliged to even acknowledge, yet he fed, clothed, and raised her better than any man might of. This child was his salvation, of course, not his burden, but even before young Cosette, he was a good man, only having pure intentions.

So of course, it seemed absolutely extraordinary for him to see an injured, vulnerable young girl lying in the grass, and not help her. It was absurd.

Jean Valjean approached the girl, and bent down, focusing on the wounds she had. There was a gaping hole in her hand, and one in her shoulder, and he gulped at the sight. "Girl," He said, tapping her. "Are you conscious? Are you alive?" He reached for her wrist and felt her pulse, and nodded at his own question when he felt her beating pulse, though he had to linger a moment as it could be easily missed.

The girl was so near death she was almost worth organising a funeral for, not saving. But Jean Valjean wasn't that type of person. He wasn't someone to leave a girl for dead, to not bother an attempt at saving her life.

So he gingerly scooped her up, careful not to put any unknowing pressure on her wounds at the moment so that she would not bleed, and carried her all the way back to his home.

When he got there, he immediately instructed his housemaid to tend to the girl while he fetched his doctor. He carried her to his spare room, and laid her down for the maid.

"Take a towel and put pressure on her shoulder wound so that it might stop bleeding." He told the maid, and she nodded, fetching a towel to help the girl who lay unconscious on the bed. "I will make haste and find a doctor."

As he left the room, Cosette stood worriedly in the doorway.

"What is it, Papa?" She asked, trying to look behind him to catch a better glimpse of what was happening. "What's going on?"

"Cosette, help Madame Lapointe attend to the wounded girl in the room. I will be back soon."

He rushed out past her and hobbled his way to his doctor's house, not far from his own. Every step he took caused a stab of pain in his lower back, so there was a permanent grimace on his face. Not two days ago had he carried a young revolutionary, Marius Pontmercy, from the Rue de la Chanvrerie - the place of the barricade - to safety, and just now he had brought the young girl from the Jardin du Luxembourg to his apartment. Of course, she wasn't nearly as heavy as the boy, not by a long shot, but Jean Valjean was old, very old now, and any sort of strain was bound to have an ill effect on his body.

He reached his physician's house and knocked on the door urgently. It wasn't late, so there was a chance that he might be out, tending to one of his other patients. However, the doctor opened his door, his eyebrows raising as he saw Jean Valjean standing on his doorstep,

"Monsieur Fauchelevent?" He asked, stepping out over his threshold. "What is it, man? You look shaken. Are you well?"

"Yes, quite, Doctor Marchand. However, there is a young girl back at my home who desperately needs the help of a physician."

"Is it your Cosette? Is she alright?" _Fauchelevent _shook his head.

"Non, Monsieur, it is not Cosette, she is well. But this other young woman, she was caught in the crossfire of the revolution. She has two large bullet wounds and needs tending to by a physician, immediately." It had not occurred to Jean - _Monsieur Fauchelevent _- that she could have actually been involved with the fighting, like he had. Of course, women were not allowed to join such things, but she was wearing trousers now that he thought about it, like she had been posing as a boy.

Fauchelevent sighed, shaking his head. What a foolish girl she was. What was her reason for joining the revolution? Yes, she seemed as though she lived in the middle of everything the Students had been fighting against, but it still baffled him as to why she would want to fight, but no other lower class citizen would, regardless of gender, or age. She was stronger than most, this strange child.

However, he wouldn't say that there was a chance she was involved in the wretched uprising. No one had to know something that wasn't their business, especially when it counted on whether they'd give her the help she desperately needed or not.

"Mon Dieu," Marchand said, and he retreated back into his house with his index finger held up. "One moment, Monsieur Fauchelevent, I will retrieve my things!"

When Fauchelevent arrived back at his home with the doctor, he saw that Éponine had been tended to excellently. Most of the dried blood had been cleaned away from her wound, and Cosette and Madame Lapointe sat by her side, putting pressure on the wounds she sported.

"Thank you, ladies, but the Doctor will take over now. Will you be needing any help?" Fauchelevent turned to Marchand, who looked at Madame Lapointe.

"Madame, would you be so kind as to help me?" The elderly woman nodded, and ushered Cosette out of the room.

"Off you go, sweetheart," She spoke softly, her hand on Cosette's back as she walked her out of the door. "We can't have you seeing this." Cosette nodded, and followed her father away, wiping a tear from her face.

She had recognised the brown haired girl lying on the bed. She supposed that she'd have to be truly dumb not to remember her face, but it had been years since she had last seen Éponine Thénardier that it could be understood.

Cosette probably should have felt hate. She probably should have refused to help her, and beg her father not to help her either. But she was a soft soul, and she could not hold a grudge to someone who was as small as she when she'd lived in the Sergeant of Waterloo, over in Montfermeil. Poor Éponine, she was too young to realise the actions she was doing to Cosette. She would copy her wretched parents' wrongdoings, seeing them only as though they were right, as we all do learn from our parents at such young, impressionable ages.

Éponine was a poor girl of the street now, that was plenty obvious. Cosette could only now feel great pity in her heart as she thought about the hardships that the girl would have gone through in those rough years. She doubted Thénardier and his wife would have become any less wicked, and in their own struggles would probably have turned their evil antics upon their children more than a few times.

Cosette could only pray to The Lord for this girl now, pray that she would be alive and safe, with no fatal harm done.

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><p>Joly sat by Enjolras' side for most of the days. The nuns at the convent had been kind enough to let them both stay for as long as they needed, and Joly had thanked them profusely. The Priest of the convent had visited Enjolras, and blessed him with Holy Water. He had offered to read him his Last Rites, but Joly gritted his teeth and shook his head, informing the Priest that he was a doctor and knew that Enjolras was going to be okay, no matter of how bad he looked right now.<p>

The truth was that Joly, despite his knowledge, didn't actually know whether Enjolras would be okay or not. He couldn't really say whether he was going to die or not, and though it seemed more likely than not, Joly did not want to acknowledge the idea of his death. He had lost all of his friends, every single one except for Enjolras, so the idea of Enjolras dying and leaving him completely was daunting. It was scary, and it was one that loomed over his head every single day.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: I love everyone that's reviewed and faved and followed this like omg u guys it means so much to me. I haven't even got many but the ones that are there are just willing me to go on with the story. You WILL get ur Enjonine my babies dnt u worry a pretty little hair on any of ur heads**_

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><p>Éponine didn't wake for a whole day. A whole 24 hours she was unconscious, but of course, it was to be expected. Cosette often sat by her side for the better part of most hours during, cooling her forehead with a damp cloth.<p>

She happened to be there when Éponine first opened her eyes, and she grinned in delight.

"Éponine!" She whispered, but the excitement was evident in her hushed tone.

Éponine's eyes were still trying to adjust to the light, and she realised that she recognised the voice. She turned her head, her face screwed up in pain, confusion, and slight annoyance at this overexcited being. She blinked once, twice, three times, and then her eyebrows shot up.

"Cosette?" She whispered, her voice raspy. "What am I…?" She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut in pain at the thumping in her head.

"You were shot." Cosette said matter-of-factly, standing up from her chair.

"Yeah, could have guessed that myself in all honesty. What am I doing here? Why are you looking after me?"

Cosette smiled as she soaked the cloth in more cold water. She wrung it out as she spoke.

"My father said he found you, half dead on the paving stones by the Luxembourg Gardens. Said you must have dragged yourself from a place behind the barricade. Or maybe from in between the barricade and the guards. He said he didn't know."

Éponine shifted uncomfortably. These people could be arrested for harbouring a supporter of the uprising, let alone someone who was partaking in it.

"But don't worry." Cosette smiled at Éponine, bringing the cloth to her head. "Father said that whichever one it was, there would be no judgement passed on our behalf, and that we would be safe from the Law if no one spoke about it, and you healed quickly." Éponine blew out a breath, and settled back down into the pillows, wincing at the pain.

"Why have you done this for me, Cosette? I was _nothing_ but cruel to you when we were young. You would have right to cast me out onto the streets, and leave me to die!" It made Éponine uncomfortable to see such kindness towards her from a person she had once been horrible to.

"I do not care much for the past, Éponine. I follow the righteous path of the Lord above, and He tells us that forward is the way to go." Éponine eyed Cosette warily, still not fully understanding. She had never been much of a religious believer herself, so that was probably why she didn't get it. Sometimes she attended Mass, usually on Sundays but really whenever she reminded herself that she should probably go. It was more to keep some faith, that there was the idea that there was someone still watching over her. But the older she got, the less and less she believed.

Cosette smiled at her. "Are you hungry?" She asked, folding the cloth and hanging it over the bowl. Éponine shook her head slightly. The pain in her shoulder and hand were winning over the hunger pains in her stomach, but Cosette carried on out the door. "Well, you should eat anyway. I'll imagine you've not eaten for a while. It'll help speed up the healing process."

Éponine didn't actually want Cosette to leave, but she was too stubborn to call out. The truth of it all was that she hadn't properly thought about everything in any of her conscious moments. It had been niggling at the back of her mind, but Cosette had been an excellent form of blocking it out, distracting her from it. But now, she'd left to make something to eat for them both, and now Éponine sat in a deafening silence, filled with nothing but painful thoughts and memories of the days past.

The image of her little brother beside her, dead. The thought of all of her friends being dead, and having no one left in the world apart from her sickening parents and her father's gang of street rats. She had no knowledge of what had happened after her 'death', and for this she let her head hang. How many had suffered? How many were now dead, undeservingly, as she lived?

She remembered the bodies laying all around her. Each one with that horrible, glassy look in their eyes, reminding her of their everlasting death.

All of those charming men, her friends. Grantaire, Bahorel, Marius, Joly… Actually, now that she came to think about it, she didn't remember seeing Marius' body. Or Enjolras' for that matter, and she would have known if he was there. The bright jacket he was wearing that night, anyone could spot him in a crowd of millions.

Were they still alive? No, it was impossible.

Well, _she_ was still alive, wasn't she?

No, it was definitely impossible. Without a doubt. Enjolras would never let his friends die and then run from the spawn of his ideals. And being such good friends with him, Marius would never do it either.

Éponine became aware of the tears that were wetting her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand so Cosette would not see them.

"Éponine, is soup alright?" Cosette popped her head around the doorframe. I'd rather you start on fluid foods instead of solid, it'd probably be better for you. Madame Lapointe says you need meat for health but for now I'd think-"

"Is Marius alive?" Éponine blurted out, knowing that Cosette would have an answer. She was bound to. Éponine remembered the amount of times she had passed letters between the two, so it was inevitable that Cosette would know if he were dead or alive.

Cosette stepped further into the room, and clasped her hands together.

"Marius Pontmercy?" She asked, clarifying that they knew the same one. When Éponine nodded, she raised her eyebrows slightly. "How do you know him? And how do you know that I'd have any clue as to his demise?"

Éponine looked down at her hand, all bandaged and deformed. That was for him, she'd taken these wounds for him, and it could have all been for nothing if he was dead now. If only she could have taken a few more for him, and for Gavroche, and Enjolras, and Jehan Prouvaire, and Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, and Grantaire, and-

"Éponine?" Cosette urged, and Éponine looked up at her.

"Sorry. Um, he was my friend." She replied, and shrugged her shoulder, the uninjured one. "And he never stopped talking about you, ever. His friends would often get annoyed because you would distract him from _Patria and her needs_ and Les Amis de L'ABC couldn't have that. No woman was allowed to drag a man from his duties to his country, in their eyes." Éponine smiled to herself as she said this, remembering how their friends would chide Marius for drifting into daydreams about Cosette all the time.

Cosette smiled and blushed, looking at the floor.

"Yes, Éponine. He is alive. He was taken to his grandfather's, Monsieur Gillenormand, and it is there he is being taken care of. He must have recovered rather quickly, because I received a letter from him this morning actually, informing me of his whereabouts and his current state." She was grinning to herself, swinging her body around gently like a lovestruck little girl. But Éponine ignored it, and tears began to fall freely from her eyes. Marius was alive and well, recovering safely.

"Did he know whether anyone else had survived?" She asked, and Cosette looked at her.

"He didn't mention it, but I could ask in my next letter if you'd like? Or you could wait until he's well enough to visit." But Éponine wanted to know as soon as possible.

"Please, if you would, ask in your next letter. I need to know." Cosette nodded, and left Éponine with her thoughts again.

It took a few days for Éponine to tone down the grimacing every time she sat up or leaned too hard on one of her injuries. She had grown a little more independent, and by the end of her fourth day at Cosette's house, she was getting up out of bed, and walking around the house.

Dr. Marchand had encouraged her to get exercise, and said he would come along to clean her wounds every four days until they got better.

On the fifth day of her stay, Marius came to visit, complete with his arm in a sling like Éponine, and a walking stick.

Éponine had not been so excited to see someone in her life. It wasn't even because of feelings that she still harboured for him, and she knew that without a doubt. She jumped up, ignoring the pain searing through her right shoulder, and hugged him with one arm as tightly as she could, recieving the same warmth back.

"'Ponine," He whispered her nickname with a friendly fondness she knew she would have gone mad without. "I'm so glad you're alive."

For the first half hour of his visit, they sat and cried with each other, mourning the loss of their friends. They had already spent most of their tears in days earlier, especially Marius, who had less to occupy his mind than Éponine, but the sight of each other being alive brought up emotions again that could produce tears in a heartbeat. Cosette was heartbroken for her lover and her friend as they sat, letting out more and more salty tears.

When they had finished, she sat down at the end of Éponine's bed. Marius had taken up the chair by the bedside, the one which she usually sat in, but she didn't mind for the moment.

"'Ponine?" Marius asked, and Éponine looked up at him. "Was there… something going on between you and Enjolras?" More tears sprang up in her eyes, but she dropped her head before anyone could see them.

"What makes you think that?" She asked in reply, keeping her head down.

Marius sighed, and began twirling his walking cane in his hand.

"I suppose it's the way he spoke about you. When you died. Or, when everyone _thought _you had died. And then, he fought with such vigor afterwards, with such a vengeful demeanor."

Éponine smiled at this.

"_Win it for me." _She had said, her last words to him. And her little bourgeois soldier had tried his hardest. He had tried to make her proud, and that he had done. He had fought fearlessly and tried his best to win, and any such effort was worth a thousand commendations.

It physically hurt Éponine to think of Enjolras dying. Alone, taking his last breath, with a Guardsman probably standing over him, holding his bayonet to his chest. She was making it worse for herself, imagining all of this, and now she had started fully crying, her shoulders shaking with her gentle sobs. Cosette reached for her leg and squeezed it in a comforting way through the duvet, running her hand up and down it a few times.

* * *

><p>It took around a week and a half to pull Enjolras out of his fever-induced coma. It wasn't necessarily a coma, but he was definitely asleep more than he was awake. And when he did wake, he was delirious, not knowing who Joly was, or remembering any of the events that had happened in the past days.<p>

But when he did finally wake, normally and of his own accord, he began to remember things.

First, he remembered Joly.

"Joly, where are we?" He asked, looking around the strange room, lit dimly by two large candles, decorated by religious ornaments.

"Do you know your name, my friend?" Joly asked warily, standing up from his chair.

"Antoine Enjolras…" The blonde haired boy was confused at his friend's odd behaviour. "Why am I in so much pain?" He groaned to himself, noting that breathing was difficult.

"You are in a convent, Enjolras. You have been wounded to an almost fatal point."

Then, he remembered the bloodbath.

"What? How? I -" He stopped himself, and his eyes widened. Suddenly, everything was coming back to him. The battle, the guns, the injuries, the deaths, his own death. But why was he still here?

He didn't care. He didn't want to be here. He was sure he had died alongside all of his friends, but now he was alive while they were dead? There was nothing just about that. He had led his friends to their death but he didn't even join them. No, he wasn't even gracious enough to die for them, for his cause.

"Why did you save me?" He asked Joly, tears falling down the sides of his face as he stared up at the ceiling. Joly seemed taken aback. "Why?!" Enjolras shouted, his face reddening. Joly frowned, sitting back down next to him.

"I had to, Enjolras. I had to. It's my duty as a doctor to preserve life. I wasn't going to let my friend die!" He reasoned.

"I did! I let my friends die, so why couldn't you?" Enjolras spat, not wanting to look Joly in the eye.

"Enjolras. We all knew what we were getting into. There wasn't one person in Les Amis that didn't believe anything was going to play out in full. We all knew that there would be a day that would boast death for a lot of people, and we fought on with you still."

Enjolras was silent after this. He closed his eyes in his stubbornness, and lay as though he were dead himself. It was the least he could do, for his fallen comrades.

"I'll get you something to eat." Joly stood up once more and made his way to the door.

"I'm not hungry."

"You need your sustenance."

"I don't care for sustenance."

"And I don't care for your childish stubbornness." Joly warned, and Enjolras kept quiet. He had to remember that Joly had also lost his friends, and had gone out of his way to look after Enjolras in all the hours he had been unconscious. Or days. He didn't actually know how long he'd been out.

Joly left the room, and Enjolras was glad of some time to himself now, although it came with the haunting of his friends in his mind. Yet, there were still some blanks. He only remembered his death and the death of his fellow revolutionaries. The smell of gunpowder and blood was still fresh in his nose. The shots ringing through his ears, the look of life leaving everybody's eyes.

But everything before that was blank. And he willed and willed himself to remember, but he couldn't.

He refused to let Joly tell him what happened. He would only let him jog his memory slightly, but he wouldn't let him fill in all of the blanks. That was his job only, considering it was already disrespectful enough of him to not even _die _like the rest of his friends for his country, let alone forget everything that happened.

Joly tried to assure him that it was normal that he had lost some of his memory. After all, he had probably fell hard to the floor after being shot, receiving some trauma to his head resulting in some memory loss. He was adamant that it would return with time and that Enjolras shouldn't force it, but Enjolras could do nothing _but _force it. He couldn't lay there and wait for his own memory to return. These things were important, these were things that needed to be remembered.

"What happened after the first battle? Against the guards? Don't tell me the whole story - just what happened exactly afterwards. Jog my memory." Enjolras had asked Joly one afternoon, after being able to sit himself up in bed without too much pain.

"Well," Joly sat down in the chair, and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "The wounded were being tended to, and everyone was looking for you. You'd disappeared, and we weren't sure if you'd been killed, or injured, or taken hostage by the Guardsmen." He sat back again, waving his hands slightly as he talked. "But then, you stood up, from behind some sign with a skinny bundle in your arms. It was Éponine. Made some speech that inspired us to go on. I can't quite recall the words you said. Remember anything?"

There was a frown etched across Enjolras' face.

"Who's _Éponine_?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: So... I guess that the story's title is kind of ironic now isn't it_**


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: So this chapter's been finished for almost a week now, since Saturday, but there's been problems with the site and saving documents. It's the longest chapter yet, but not by all that much. I hope you guys enjoy it x**_

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><p>"You know Éponine. The girl who used to follow Marius around, like his little shadow. She was quite funny, actually, made me laugh a bit. She was a poor girl." Joly wrinkled his nose when he didn't see any form of understanding cross Enjolras' face. "Well, she's dead anyway. Quite a shame."<p>

Enjolras winced a little when he said that. Probably because of the guilt about the perpetual list of dead people he felt. "I honestly have no clue as to who she is."

"Which is rather surprising, considering the whole point of our revolution was for people like her, and she was the only one that seemed bothered about fighting for the cause, aside from Gavroche." Joly shrugged, trying to tone down the fire in his voice.

"Don't worry, I'm already feeling terrible enough." Enjolras huffed, rolling his eyes. Why couldn't he remember her? If he'd picked her up, while she was dead, _said her name to everyone, _and then proceeded to make a speech based around her demise, why _in hell _couldn't he remember her? None of this made sense. His face began to turn red as he thought more on the subject, trying to remember this girl. But he couldn't, and it was infuriating him, more than anything.

"Jesus Christ, Enjolras. Be careful, you'll give yourself an aneurysm." Joly stared at him with confusion and worry.

Enjolras blew out a breath in frustration, and didn't speak again for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>Cosette was beginning to enjoy Éponine's company more and more. It was often lonely, before she had come. She usually had Madame Lapointe for company but, as someone who was twice her age, she could never keep Cosette company as good as someone her own age. And her father would often sit with her, but not as they used to. Cosette found that he was getting very old and would now spend most of his days in his study, writing letters.<p>

"What was he like?" She had asked Éponine one day, after Éponine had bathed and Dr. Marchand had cleaned and replaced the bandages over her wounds. She was plaiting Éponine's thin brown hair so that it would make each strand wavy.

"Who?" Éponine asked warily.

"Monsieur Enjolras." Cosette replied, her voice quiet. She didn't want to upset Éponine, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. "Tell me about him. Tell me about you and him."

"Well, there isn't much to say about he and I, really. But him… yes, I suppose I could tell you about him." Éponine adjusted her sling to a more comfortable position, and Cosette slowed her fingers down as she worked on the plait at the back of Éponine's head, ready to hear about him. "Many of the women around called him Apollo. He was… well, he was rather handsome. He had striking features; large, blue eyes, blonde curls on his head, and a strong jaw. Yes, he was very handsome, but he didn't really have much of an interest in anyone.

"He would always hold speeches, and rallies, in support of his cause. You see, Les Amis De L'ABC were very dedicated people, and would have diminished without someone like him at their head. His words were fluent and he was well spoken. A great man, with great ideas for the future." Éponine was smiling as she spoke of Enjolras.

"But he was stubborn. As stubborn as anyone could be. He rescued me once, from an evil man in a ruelle... " Éponine smiled at her childlike way of putting it, and it spread to a small grin as she thought about Enjolras intimidating Montparnasse. "And then he walked me home in the pitch black of night. He helped to save Azelma too, when she'd been injured on the street. Lent me his jacket when I was cold. And -" She stopped herself, unsure of whether she should even mention it. Her smile dropped and she was sad again.

"And what?" Cosette urged, although part of her knew what Éponine was talking about. There was a silence before she spoke again, and she spoke slowly, hesitantly.

"I'm sure you've already guessed what, Cosette. And besides, I don't know how to put it into words."

Cosette squeezed Éponine's good shoulder after she'd tied the plait into place with a ribbon, and began clipping back loose hairs.

"So what made him fall for you then? If all of the women were after him, but he didn't have eyes for any of them, why do you think he fell for you?" She changed the subject.

"Well, I wouldn't say he fell for _me_… I'm not so sure he ever really had many feelings for me." Éponine blushed, and Cosette tutted, tugging at the plait she had woven.

"Fille idiote!" She teased gently. "Did you not hear Marius? He said he thought there was something between you and Monsieur Enjolras because of '_the way he spoke of you when you died.', _and how he fought the rest of the battle after your supposed death with more bravery than he said he'd ever seen in his life. If _that_ is not obvious then I do not know what _is_."

Éponine sniffled and laughed a bit. "Well, he did call me his Patria. In the morning after our… _union, _he had left a note for me, saying not to go to the barricades. He said in it that I was and always would be his Patria." Cosette held a hand to her chest.

"What a beautiful, beautiful story. So tragic, yet so utterly beautiful." Éponine could swear she saw tears in her eyes through the mirror in front of them, but she said nothing.

"Tell me…" She squeezed her eyes shut, and took a breath. "Tell me about you and Marius." She finally bit out. Éponine knew the story already, as someone who had been the bridge between their relationship, essentially. But she couldn't talk about Enjolras anymore. Not now.

So she sat through Cosette's excited chatter about Marius, telling her things that she was already aware of, and pretending to be shocked, or happy, or whatever emotion was needed at each part of the story. The least she could do was make Cosette happy after all of the years she'd been horrible to her.

"Come on, we'll have supper. Are you well enough to eat in the dining room, or would you rather we ate in here?" Cosette asked, standing up from her seat. Éponine got up too, with an eager spring.

"I think we could eat in the dining room." She replied. The room they spent their days in was becoming more and more boring. "Do you think we might be able to go to the markets tomorrow?" Cosette had given her some beautiful garments that she could wear, ones she said she wouldn't wear anymore, and Éponine had been more than eager to wear them. She hadn't worn such fineries since she was such a small child that she retained the excitement of one for them. Plus, she hadn't felt fresh air on her skin, properly, since - well, since the barricades. She longed to be out, keeping busy like she did when she was out in streets.

"I suppose we could. Papa is usually a little unsure about me going out without him, but I'll have you now! I won't be alone, and so he should let us go." Éponine almost felt sad for Cosette as she spoke about the outdoors as if it were an unknown thing. But then she realised that the only reason her father was so uptight about letting her out on her own was because he actually _cared _about her. Thénardier wouldn't let her do half of the things she'd already done if _he'd_ cared about Éponine.

Thénardier. Éponine hadn't thought about her father up until now. She'd managed to put off thinking about him, but she knew he'd pop up in her brain sooner or later, and there he was, crossing her thoughts. She wondered what scam he was pulling off now, what robberies he was carrying out with his dirty street gang. Éponine shivered at the thought of them.

"Are you alright?" Cosette asked her, catching her shivering. "Are you cold?" Éponine shook her head.

"I just thought about my father for a second." Cosette grimaced, and thought for a moment.

"Yes, that is rather disturbing." She muttered, before leaving for the kitchen. Éponine followed her, nodding her head slightly.

"I've got a rabbit stew on, mes chers." Madame Lapointe said, as the girls entered the kitchen. Cosette smiled at the maid in appreciation, and Éponine was about to do the same until she caught the smell of the food. It filled her nostrils, overpowering her, and before she knew it she was running for the toilet to vomit.

When she was finished, she washed her face and stared at herself in the small, dusty mirror in the washroom.

Cosette was waiting outside for her when she was finished, and Éponine jumped a little when she opened the door.

"Are you okay?" Cosette immediately began fussing, checking her bandages. "Have you got an infection? A virus? Do I need to call Dr. Marchand?"

Éponine rubbed a hand over her face. "Cosette, don't make a big thing out of it. I felt a little unwell, that's all."

Cosette narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized Éponine, furrowing her eyebrows slightly. "If you say so…" She drawled out, not fully believing her but not wanting to force Éponine to talk about it. "Look, Éponine. Your shoulder is bleeding. That can't be good."

Éponine rolled her eyes and made her way to the bedroom. She removed her sling and Cosette helped her to pull her arm out of her nightgown sleeve.

She let out a moan of pain as it moved, squeezing her eyes shut to will the pain away. Cosette unwrapped the bandage carefully, trying to do as she had watched Marchand do, and tutted at Éponine's shoulder.

"Look at this! It's obviously infected. We'll need Dr. Marchand around immediately tomorrow. I'll bet it's given you some sort of bug! Nasty thing." Éponine sighed as Cosette ranted, all the while changing the soiled bandages with fresh ones. "Four days, he said. That'll never do. It's going to have to be every other day. Just look at what this looks like after three days! They're far too fresh to be cleaned every _four _days."

"You'd swear you were the doctor here, Cosette." Éponine teased, trying to ignore the pain throbbing in her shoulder as Cosette wrapped the fresh bandage tightly around her mangled flesh.

"Well, I should be. The damned thing must've given you a horrible virus. We'll have to postpone our trip to the market for a day, I've a mind to tell that man that he needs to change his schedule."

Éponine wilted slightly, but decided not to make a remark.

"I'm so sorry, Madame Lapointe," Éponine apologised as she took a seat in the dining room next to Cosette when they came back. "I hope I didn't offend you, I have no idea what came over me."

The older woman shook her head, laughing slightly. "Not to worry mon cher, I've taken no offence. I didn't think you'd want any of the stew, so I've buttered you a few slices of bread to settle your stomach a little."

Éponine smiled and thanked Madame Lapointe, who bowed her head to the two ladies and took her leave. It didn't feel right, in Éponine's view, to be treated this way. To be treated as though she wasn't the street grisette she had been a few weeks beforehand. It felt wrong, and she couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable as she slept in fine nightgowns in a comfortable bed with crisp white linen.

She thought more and more on it, as she sat listening to Cosette babble on about meeting Marius in town, and found that she didn't even want to go anymore. Of course, she would go, but it wasn't as exciting to think about as it was an hour ago. Éponine cursed her brain, being able to think so much on something that it turned a simple thought, idea, or memory, to a rotten state. To something that would make her fret, feel physically sick, feel frightened, feel all the types of emotions that one would never want to feel very often. Overthinking things was her biggest downfall.

* * *

><p>"Éponine! Look at these apples! Don't they look simply delicious?" Cosette tugged on the skirt of Éponine's dress, asking for her to turn her attention to the array of green and red apples that sat in a box on a fruit stall in the market at Rue Saint Denis. Éponine was too busy staring down at the dress she had on, a sky-blue colour that covered her neck and shoulders, and swept down around her feet, fitted into dainty shoes.<p>

She had never felt more out of place, yet she was in awe of how nice it felt on her at the same time. Occasionally, she would gently sway her hips around discreetly, so she could feel the hem of the dress sweeping silently around her ankles. Éponine felt like a princess and an impostor at the same time, but right now, no one needed to know her name or her business.

She kept her head down, so that no urchins she had met in the past would recognise her and call her out, embarrassing her in front of Cosette. She wasn't sure when _being embarrassed in front of Cosette _was placed so high on her list of things she didn't want happening, but she gathered it was since getting to know her. Éponine was a prideful person.

Éponine stared up at l'église Saint-Leu-Saint-Gilles when they passed it. She walked slowly, her eyes sweeping over the yellowed bricks of the old church, and she longed to go inside. She longed to go inside because maybe, if she looked at the old stained glass windows and saw the blonde haired angels, she might remember how Enjolras looked. How he looked when he wasn't troubled with the stress of the revolution, like the night they had spent together, his angelic features completely relaxed as he lay underneath her unfazed by her staring as she traced circles on his chest with her index finger.

"Look, there's Marius!" Cosette pulled Éponine along gently and she blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. She stared silently as the two exchanged kisses, not really caring for this outing. Éponine always found that if she was too excited for a thing, it turned out to be terrible. And now, she'd found that if she got too attached to someone, they were always ripped away from her in the most cruel of ways. She could never have anything nice. Her life was destined for the dirt.

She trailed behind the two, not wanting to engage in conversation or even small talk. She was tired and her feet hurt, but she didn't dare complain because she knew how much Cosette had been looking forward to coming to the market, and so she nodded her head along to the conversation and looked at everything Cosette pointed out, feigning interest.

Marius didn't seem on top form either. It was to be expected, only weeks after the death of every single one of his friends, but he was good at hiding the full extent of his depression. He'd often crack jokes that would make Cosette giggle, a hand over her mouth suppressing any laughs louder than socially acceptable in a polite gesture. He'd smile as he watched her gracefully make her way around the busy stalls, tapping Éponine's uninjured shoulder with excitement as they stared at the beautiful handmade jewellry on different stalls.

But at the same time, his mind was distant. He couldn't help but lose focus every so often, and the smell of fresh fruit would change into the stench of gunpowder, and blood. The mother clutching her son close was all too similar to the way that Courfeyrac would keep a tight hold on Gavroche during their rebellion to keep him as safe as he could, still to no avail. Every shout from each stall would make him flinch and jump, but thankfully not enough for anyone to point out, and if they did notice, they kindly didn't say anything

Marius stared out at the sea of people, using Cosette's chatter to Éponine as an anchor to reality as he thought about everything. It was almost a habit now, an addiction, to re-live everything in his head over and over. It caused him pain, but he had worked himself into a mindset that he deserved this pain, since he had lived and they had not.

Sometimes, his conscience would interrupt, with things like _Well, if you deserve this, then so does Éponine. Do you really think that Éponine deserves to re-live the pain over and over? Has she not suffered enough? Have you not suffered enough? _Or, the classic _They wouldn't have wanted this from you. They would have wanted you to carry on, to carry their names through history with the utmost pride and respect. They would have wanted you to spread their morals and ideals, not mope and cry about their deaths._

Yet, the little voice in his head was always overpowered by the vulgar memories he forced himself to go through again and again and again, and he soon found out that it no longer visited him like it used to. Maybe it had just grown tired and given up.

He had never expected something like this to happen, though.

As he stared at the people, his eyes locking on to each and every one of them while he patiently waited for Cosette to pick out a brooch from the array of different jewels, they fell onto one familiar looking person. He squinted, scrutinising the blonde hair sweeping over the man's eyes. He gasped, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Combeferre!" He called, and Éponine looked around as quickly as she could, searching Marius' face before she turned her stare on the crowd. She couldn't find Combeferre, he was nowhere to be found. Éponine jumped as Marius started forward, and Cosette looked worriedly as she watched Marius being tackled by Éponine.

"Marius! Combeferre isn't there! It's not him!" Marius blinked and looked down at Éponine, then flickered his eyes to Cosette before he looked back at what he thought was Combeferre.

He had vanished into thin air. Nowhere to be seen, he searched the crowd frantically, but there wasn't a trace of Combeferre anywhere.

"I…" Marius frowned and looked at the floor beneath them. "I need to get out of this crowd. I'll be back soon." He didn't wait for a response from either of the girls. Éponine dropped her hand from his arm, and he took off immediately.

"Who's Combeferre?" Cosette asked, as the two stared after Marius weaving his way through the masses of people.

"A man, who died in the rebellion." Éponine replied, and Cosette looked at her with a questioning look. "I know he's dead, " She continued, "Because I saw his dead body lying next to me." Her voice was stone cold.

* * *

><p>Marius sat on a bench by the Quai de la Seine, after about an hour of slow walking from the Rue Saint Denis, with his head in his hands. He was traumatised by the battle, truly and utterly, but he knew that he would have to suppress what he felt, for there would be no help for a revolutionary, only prison, or an asylum if he spoke about what had happened today, and he could not willingly leave Cosette.<p>

"Marius? Is that you?" A voice called, a frighteningly familiar voice, and Marius looked up. _There was no one left to be familiar anymore._

He squinted to get a better look at the figure, silhouetted by the hot June sun, and his face drained of all colour when recognition hit.

"Why, I don't believe it! This must be a trick!" The figure whispered to himself.

Marius edged away on the bench, his arm held up in front of his face as if to shield him from the ghost. "Please!" He shouted. "I know it's not you, not really. I know that my mind is just playing tricks on me! You are not Joly, you cannot be!"

But the hand that gripped his forearm proved that the man in front of him was very real, and very alive.

"Marius, my friend." Joly spoke more gently this time. "It is me. And it is really you." His disbelief was obvious in his tone, and not unexpected. "How did you survive?"

"I-I could ask you the same thing…" Marius replied, standing up cautiously. There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other with no movement. Suddenly, they enveloped each other in a warm embrace, unbelieving of their presence.

When they pulled apart, Joly spoke in a hushed tone.

"Listen, Marius. We cannot speak of this in public." He looked around cautiously. "We should be in prisons, with our heads on spikes for what happened." Standing a little taller, Joly leaned closer to Marius. "You must come to Rue Saint Antoine, and find the convent there. Ask for a Monsieur Vipond, and then we will meet again and speak freely. Dear God, how I have missed you awfully. I thought everyone was dead!"

Marius nodded and took a breath. "What are you doing in a convent? Are they caring for you? You do not look unwell to me, my friend, but I suppose you could have convinced them that there was something wrong with you. You're awfully good at convincing yourself!" Joly laughed at Marius' jab, and shook his head.

"Fool. It is I who does the caring, actually." Marius raised an eyebrow. "Mon ami," Joly whispered, "Enjolras is still alive."

Marius stood back, almost as if the comment had knocked him backwards. "_What?_"

Joly sighed and shrugged. "I'm not even sure of that myself. He took eight bullets to his chest, and survived. You know how he is, stubborn and all. You'd have to ask him yourself."

"He's conscious? Enjolras took eight bullets to the chest and he's currently up and talking? That man is more than stubborn." Joly laughed.

"Well, he's not up yet. Still bed-bound, but he's definitely getting a lot better. He's starting to sit up by himself now, and he says that he feels little pain but I'm not entirely sure I believe him. He's suffering from a bit of memory loss at the moment, nothing _too_ bad but he's definitely having trouble trying to remember faces and things happening. It's all coming back to him though, with gentle reminders."

Marius nodded. "It's to be expected, I suppose he'd have hit his head hard or something. Éponine is alive too, you know."

Joly raised his eyebrows as high as he could. "Alive? Why, she was the first to fall! How did she survive?"

Marius sighed, shaking his head with raised eyebrows of his own. "I have no idea, really. I knew she was smart about her ways, but I saw her dead body myself. I was so sure she was dead. Yet, she claims to have dragged herself away when the guns had fallen silent and the fighting had stopped, and now she stays with Cosette with two gunshot wounds on her shoulder and hand."

"Well, that's a shock. Now that you mention it though, I don't remember seeing her body with all the rest. Enjolras doesn't remember her at all."

Marius' face dropped.

"At all? He doesn't remember her _at all?"_

Joly shook his head, mouth turned down with his bottom lip sticking out slightly. "I tried to remind him about her, said that she was like your shadow, that he'd picked her up when she died and based a whole speech around her straight after. Didn't remember a blessed bit."

Marius looked down, a worried expression on his face. "Anyway, Marius. Do as I said, come to the convent on Rue Saint Antoine and ask for Monsieur Vipond. I've got to get back to Enjolras, he's probably driven up the walls with insanity. I'm sure he'd enjoy a fresh face to talk to." Joly pulled Marius into a hug once more and took off, leaving him stood by the Seine with a weird expression on his face.

He was confused, surprised, shocked, happy, relieved, worried, all these different emotions and more at once. He was happy that now three of his friends were alive, shocked and surprised at the chance of that happening, and confused at all of them together.

But he was worried about Éponine. How was he supposed to tell her that Enjolras couldn't remember her?


End file.
